MEN  AND  WOMEN 


AND 


SORDELLO 


BY 

ROBERT   BROWNING 


TWO  VOLUMES  IN  ONE 


BO-STON 

HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN  AND   COMPANY 
New  York:    11    East   Seventeenth  Street 

rc00, 4Tamfiri&0e 
1886 


CAMBRIDGE: 
PRINTED  AT  THE  RIVERSIDE  PRESS 


MEN   AND  WOMEN. 


CONTENTS. 

ft* 

LOVE   AMONG   THE   RUINS 1 

A.  LOVERS'  QUARREL 6 

EVELYN  HOPE IS 

UP  AT  A  VILLA —  DOWN  IN  THE  CITY.    (AS  DISTIN- 
GUISHED BY  AN  ITALIAN  PERSON  OF  QUALITY.)  16 

A  WOMAN'S  LAST  WORD 22 

FRA  LIPPO  LIPPI           25 

A  TOCCATA   OF   GALUPPl's           .....  89 

BY   THE  FIRESIDE 44 

ANY  WIFE   TO   ANY   HUSBAND             ....  68 
AN   EPISTLE   CONTAINING   THE   STRANGE  MEDICAL  EX- 
PERIENCE OF   KARSHISH,  THE   ARAB  PHYSICIAN  65 

MESMERISM 76 

A   SERENADE   AT  THE   VILLA          ....  83 

MY  STAR 87 

INSTANS   TYRANNUS 88 

A  PRETTY  WOMAN 92 

"CHILDE   ROLAND  TO   THE  DARE   TOWER  CAME"  96 

RESPECTABILITY 106 

A  LIGHT   WOMAN 108 

THE  STATUE   AND   THE   BUST          .           .           .           .  Ill 

LOVE   IN   A   LIFE 184 


T  CONTENTS 

P«*« 

LIFE  IN  A  LOVE 125 

HOW  IT  STRIKES  A  CONTEMPORARY       .  126 

THE  LAST  RIDE  TOGETHER 131 

THE  PATRIOT.  —  AN  OLD  STORY      ....  136 

MASTER  HUGUE8  OP  SAXE-GOTHA      ...  138 

BISHOP  BLOUGRAM'S  APOLOGY        ....  146 

MEMORABILIA 183 

ANDREA  DEL  SARTO.    (CALLED  "THE  FAULTLESS 

PAINTER"  .                      184 

BEFORE             ...                     ....  194 

AFTER ....197 

IN  THREE   DAYS 198 

IN  A   YEAR 200 

OLD  PICTURES   IN   FLORENCE          ....  204 

IN  A  BALCONY.  —  FIRST  PART            .           .           .           .  217 

u                    SECOND  PART             .           .           .  231 

"                     THIRD   PART           ....  244 

8AUL -    .  260 

"DE  GUSTIBUS — " 284 

WOMEN  AND  ROSES 286 

PROTUS 289 

HOLY-CROSS  DAY.    (ON  WHICH  THE  JEWS  WERE 
FORCED  TO  ATTEND  AN  ANNUAL  CHRISTIAN 

SERMON  IN  ROME)        *       .       .       .       .  292 

THE  GUARDIAN-ANGEL:  A  PICTURE  AT  FANO       .  299 

CLEON 302 

THE  TWINS 315 

POPULARITY.       . 817 

THE  HERETIC'S  TRAGEDY.   A  MIDDLE-AGE  INTER- 
LUDE    32) 

TWO  IN  THE  CAMPAGNA 326 


CONTENTS.  V 

Pago 

A  GRAMMARIAN'S  FUNERAL 830 

ONE  WAY  OF  LOVE 836 

ANOTHER  WAY  OF  LOVE         .       .       .       .       .837 
"TRANSCENDENTALISM:"  A  POEM  ra  TWELVE  BOOKS  339 

MISCONCEPTIONS    ...  .          .  842 

ONE  WORD  MORE.     TO  K.  B.  B.  .          .         443 


MEN  AND  WOMEN. 


LOVE  AMONG  THE  RUINS. 

I. 

WHERE  the  quiet-coloured  end  of  evening  smilee 

Miles  and  miles 
On  the  solitary  pastures  where  our  sheep 

Half-asleep 
Tinkle  homeward  thro'  the  twilight,  stray  or  stop 

As  they,  crop  — 


Was  the  site  once  of  a  city  great  and  gay, 

(So  they  say) 
Of  our  country's  very  capital,  its  prince 

Ages  since 
Held  his  court  in,  gathered  councils,  wielding  far 

Peace  or  war. 
J 


2  LOVE    AMONG   THE   RUINS. 

8. 

Now  —  the  country  does  not  even  boast  a  trie, 

As  you  see, 
To  distinguish  slopes  of  verdure,  certain  rills 

From  the  hills 
Intersect  and  give  a  name  to,  (else  they  run 

Into  one) 

4 

Where  the  domed  and  daring  palace  shot  its  spires 

Up  like  fires 
O'er  the  hundred-gated  circuit  of  a  wall 

Bounding  all, 
Made  of  marble,  men  might  ~narch  on  nor  be  preat, 

Twelve  abreast. 

5. 

And  such  plenty  and  perfection,  see,  of  grass 

Never  was ! 
Such  a  carpet  as,  this  summer-tune,  o'erspreads 

And  embeds 
Every  vestige  of  the  city,  guessed  alone, 

Stock  or  stone  — 

6. 

Where  a  multitude  of  men  breathed  joy  and  woe 

Long  ago ; 
dust  of  glory  pricked  their  hearts  up,  dread  of  shame 

Struck  them  tame : 


LOVE    AMONG   THE   BUINS. 

And  that  glory  and  that  shame  alike,  the  gold 
Bought  and  sold. 

7. 

Now, — the  single  little  turret  that  remains 

On  the  plains, 
By  the  caper  overrooted,  by  the  gourd 

Overscored, 
While  the  patching  houseleek's  head  of  blossom  winka 

Through  the  chinks  — 

8. 

Marks  the  basement  whence  a  tower  in  ancient  time 

Sprang  sublime, 
And  a  burning  ring  all  round,  the  chariots  traced 

As  they  raced, 
And  the  monarch  and  his  minions  and  his  dames 

Viewed  the  games. 

9. 

And  I  know,  while  thus  the  quiet-coloured  eve 

Smiles  to  leave 
To  their  folding,  all  our  many-tinkling  fleece 

In  such  peace, 
And  the  slopes  and  rills  hi  undistinguished  gray 

Melt  away  — 

10. 

fhat  a  girl  with  eager  eyes  and  yellow  hair 
Waits  me  there 


4  LOVE   AMONG   THE    RUINS. 

In  the  turret,  whence  the  charioteers  caught  soul 

For  the  goal,  [dumb 

When  the  king  looked,  where  she  looks  now,  breathlessj 
Till  I  come. 

11. 

But  he  looked  upon  the  city,  every  side, 

Far  and  wide, 
All  the  mountains  topped  with  temples,  all  the  glades' 

Colonnades, 
All  the  causeys,  bridges,  aqueducts,  —  and  then, 

All  the  men ! 

12. 
When  I  do  come,  she  will  speak  not,  she  will  stand, 

Either  hand 
On  my  shoulder,  give  her  eyes  the  first  embrace 

Of  my  face, 
Ere  we  rush,  ere  we  extinguish  sight  and  speech 

Each  on  each. 

13. 

En  one  year  they  sent  a  million  fighters  forth 

South  and  north, 
And  they  built  their  gods  a  brazen  pillar  high 

As  the  sky, 
let  reserved  a  thousand  chariots  in  full  force  — 

Gold,  of  course. 


LOVE    AMONG    THE    RUINS. 

14. 

Oh  heart !  oh,  blood  that  freezes,  blood  that  burns ! 

Earth's  returns 
For  whole  centuries  of  folly,  noise  and  sin ! 

Shut  them  in, 
With  their  triumphs  and  their  glories  and  the  rest. 

Love  is  best ! 


A  LOVERS'  QUAHUKL. 

1. 

OH,  what  a  dawn  of  day ! 

How  the  March  sun  feels  like  May ! 

All  is  blue  again 

After  last  night's  rain, 
And  the  South  dries  the  hawthorn-spray. 

Only,  my  Love's  away ! 
I'd  as  lief  that  the  blue  were  gray. 

2. 

Runnels,  which  rillets  swell, 
Must  be  dancing  down  the  dell 

With  a  foamy  head 

On  the  beryl  bed 
Paven  smooth  as  a  hermit's  cell ; 

Each  with  a  tale  to  tell, 
Could  my  Love  but  attend  as  well 

3. 

Dearest,  three  months  ago ! 

When  we  lived  blocked-up  with  snow,  — • 


A    LOVKRS"    QUARREL. 

When  the  wind  would  edge 

In  and  in  his  wedge, 
In,  as  far  as  the  point  could  go  — 

Not  to  our  ingle,  though, 
Where  we  loved  each  the  other  so ! 

4. 

Laughs  with  so  h'ttle  cause ! 
We  devised  games  out  of  straws. 

We  would  try  and  trace 

One  another's  face 
In  the  ash,  as  an  artist  draws ; 

Free  on  each  other's  flaws, 
How  we  chattered  like  two  church  daws ! 

5. 

What's  in  the  «  Tunes?  "—a  saold 
At  the  emperor  deep  and  cold ; 

He  has  taken  a  bride 

To  his  gruesome  side, 
That 's  as  fair  as  himself  is  bold : 

There  they  sit  ermine-stoled, 
And  she  powders  her  hah*  with  gold. 

6. 

Fancy  the  Pampas  sheen ! 
Miles  and  miles  of  gold  and  green 

Where  the  sun-flowers  blow 

In  a  solid  glow, 


A    LOVERS     QUARREL. 

And  to  break  now  and  then  the  screen  - 

Black  neck  and  eyeballs  keen, 
Up  a  wild  horse  leaps  between  ! 

7. 

Try,  will  our  table  turn  ? 

Lay  your  hands  there  light,  and  yearn 

Till  the  yearning  slips 

Thro'  the  finger  tips 
In  a  fire  which  a  few  discern, 

And  a  very  few  feel  burn, 
And  the  rest,  they  may  live  and  leant  „ 

8. 

Then  we  would  up  and  pace, 
For  a  change,  about  the  place, 

Each  with  arm  o'er  neck 
'Tis  our  quarter-deck, 
We  are  seamen  in  woeful  case. 

Help  in  the  ocean-space ! 
Or,  if  no  help,  we  '11  embrace. 

9. 

See,  how  she  looks  now,  drest 

In  a  sledging-cap  and  vest 

'Tis  a  huge  fur  cloak  — 
Like  a  reindeer's  yoke 

Falls  the  lappet  along  the  breast 

Sleeves  for  her  arms  to  rest, 

Or  to  hanjr,  as  my  Love  likes  best. 


A  LOVERS'  QUAUUUL. 

10. 

Teach  me  to  flirt  a  fan 

As  the  Spanish  ladies  can, 
Or  I  tint  your  lip 
With  a  burnt  stick's  tip 

And  you  turn  into  such  a  man  ! 

Just  the  two  spots  that  span 

Half  the  bill  of  the  young  male  swan. 

11. 

Dearest,  three  months  ago 
When  the  mesmeriser  Snow 

With  his  hand's  first  sweep 
Put  the  earth  to  sleep, 
Twas  a  time  when  the  heart  could  show 

All  —  how  was  earth  to  know, 
*Neath  the  mute  hand's  to-and-fro  ! 

IS. 

Dearest,  three  months  ago 
When  we  loved  each  other  so, 

Lived  and  loved  the  same 

Till  an  evening  came 
When  a  shaft  from  the  Devil's  bow 

Pierced  to  our  ingle-glow, 
And  the  friends  were  friend  and  foe  I 

13. 

Not  from  the  heart  beneath  — 
Twas  a  bubble  born  of  breath, 


10  A  LOVERS'  QUARREL. 

Neither  sneer  nor  vaunt, 
Nor  reproach  nor  taunt. 

See  a  word,  how  it  severeth  ! 

Oh,  power  of  life  and  death 

In  the  tongue,  as  the  Preacher  saith ! 

14. 

Woman,  and  will  you  cast 

For  a  word,  quite  off  at  last, 

Me,  your  own,  your  you,  — 
Since,  as  Truth  is  true, 

I  was  you  all  the  happy  past  — 
Me  do  you  leave  aghast 

With  the  memories  we  amassed  ? 

15. 

Love,  if  you  knew  the  light 

That  your  soul  casts  in  my  sight, 
How  I  look  to  you 
For  the  pure  and  true, 

And  the  beauteous  and  the  right,  — 
Bear  with  a  moment's  spite 

When  a  mere  mote  threats  the  white  I 

16. 

What  of  a  hasty  word  ? 

Is  the  fleshly  heart  not  stirred 
By  a  worm's  pin-prick 
Where  its  roots  are  quick  ? 


A    LOVERS'   QUARREL.  11 

See  the  eye,  by  a  fly's-foot  blurred  — 

Ear,  when  a  straw  is  heard 
Scratch  the  brain's  coat  of  curd  I 

17. 

Foul  be  the  world  or  fair, 
More  or  less,  how  can  I  care  ? 

'Tis  the  world  the  same 

For  my  praise  or  blame, 
And  endurance  is  easy  there. 

Wrong  in  the  one  thing  rare  — 
Oh,  it  is  hard  to  bear  I 

18. 

Here 's  the  spring  back  or  close, 
When  the  almond-blossom  blows  ; 

We  shall  have  the  word 

In  that  minor  third 
There  is  none  but  the  cuckoo  knows— 

Heaps  of  the  guelder-rose  1 
I  must  bear  with  it,  I  suppose. 

19. 

Could  but  November  come, 
Were  the  noisy  birds  struck  dumb 

At  the  warning  slash 

Of  his  driver's-lash  — 
I  would  laugh  like  the  valiant  Thumb 

Facing  the  castle  glum 
And  the  giant's  fee-faw-fum  ! 


19  A   LOVERS'    QUARREL. 

20. 

Then,  were  the  world  well  stript 

Of  the  gear  wherein  equipped 
We  can  stand  apart, 
Heart  dispense  with  heart 

In  the  sun,  with  the  flowers  unnipped,  — • 
Oh,  the  world's  hangings  ripped, 

We  were  both  in  a  bare- walled  crypt  I 

21. 

Each  in  the  crypt  would  cry 
*  But  one  freezes  here  !  and  why  ? 
When  a  heart  as  chill 
At  my  own  would  thrill 

Back  to  life,  and  its  fires  out-fly  ? 
Heart,  shall  we  live  or  die  ? 

The  rest, . .  .  settle  it  by  and  by ! " 

22. 

So,  she  'd  efface  the  score, 
And  forgive  me  as  before. 

Just  at  twelve  o'clock 

I  shall  hear  her  knock 
In  the  worst  of  a  storm's  uproar  — 

1  shall  pull  her  through  the  door  — 
I  shall  have  her  for  evermore  1 


EVELYN  HOPR 

l. 

BEAUTIFUL  Evelyn  Hope  is  dead ! 

Sit  and  watch  by  her  side  an  hour. 
That  is  her  book-shelf,  this  her  bed  ; 

She  plucked  that  piece  of  geranium-flower, 
Beginning  to  die  too,  in  the  glass. 

Little  has  yet  been  changed,  I  think  — 
The  shutters  are  shut,  no  light  may  pass 

Save  two  long  rays  thro'  the  hinge's  chink. 

2. 

Sixteen  years  old  when  she  died  1 

Perhaps  she  had  scarcely  heard  my  name  — • 
It  was  not  her  time  to  love  :  beside, 

Her  life  had  many  a  hope  and  aim, 
Duties  enough  and  little  cares, 

And  now  was  quiet,  now  astir  — 
Rll  God's  hand  beckoned  unawares, 

And  the  sweet  white  brow  is  all  of  her. 


14  EVELYN    HOPE. 

3. 

[g  it  too  late  then,  Evelyn  Hope  ? 

What,  your  soul  was  pure  and  true, 
The  good  stars  met  in  your  horoscope, 

Made  you  of  spirit,  fire  and  dew  — 
And  just  because  I  was  thrice  as  old, 

And  our  paths  in  the  world  diverged  so  wide, 
Each  was  nought  to  each,  must  I  be  told  ? 

We  were  fellow  mortals,  nought  beside  ? 

4. 

No,  indeed  !  for  God  above 

Is  great  to  grant,  as  mighty  to  make, 
And  creates  the  love  to  reward  the  love,  — 

I  claim  you  still,  for  my  own  love's  sake  ! 
Delayed  it  may  be  for  more  lives  yet, 

Through  worlds  I  shall  traverse,  not  a  few  — 
Much  is  to  learn  and  much  to  forget 

Ere  the  time  be  come  for  taking  you. 

5. 

Hut  the  time  will  come,  —  at  last  it  will, 

When,  Evelyn  Hope,  what  meant,  I  shall  say, 
[n  the  lower  earth,  in  the  years  long  still, 

That  body  and  soul  so  pure  and  gay  ? 
Why  your  hair  was  amber,  I  shall  divine, 

And  your  mouth  of  your  own  geranium  's  red  - 
what  you  would  do  with  me,  in  fine, 

In  the  new  life  come  in  the  old  one's  stead. 


EVELYN   HOPE. 
6. 

[  have  lived,  I  shall  say,  so  much  since  then, 

Given  up  myself  so  many  times, 
Grained  me  the  gains  of  various  men, 

Ransacked  the  ages,  spoiled  the  climes ; 
Yet  one  thing,  one,  hi  my  soul's  full  scope, 

Either  I  missed  or  itself  missed  me  — 
And  I  want  and  find  you,  Evelyn  Hope  ! 

What  is  the  issue  ?  let  us  see ! 


I  loved  you,  Evelyn,  all  the  while  ; 

My  heart  seemed  full  as  it  could  hold  — 
There  was  place  and  to  spare  for  the  frank  young  smile 

And  the  red  young  mouth  and  the  hair's  young  gold. 
So,  hush,  —  1  will  give  you  this  leaf  to  keep  — 

See,  I  shut  it  inside  the  sweet  cold  hand, 
fhere,  tnat  is  our  secret !  go  to  sleep  ; 

Sou  will  wake,  and  remember,  and  understand. 


UP  AT  A  VILLA  — DOWN  IN  THE  CITY. 

(AS   mSTUJGlTISHKD    BY    All   I*  ALIAS  PERSON    OF    QUALITT.) 

1. 

HAD  I  but  plenty  of  money,  money  enough  and  to 
spare, 

The  house  for  me,  no  doubt,  were  a  house  in  the  city- 
square. 

-Ah,  such  a  life,  such  a  life,  as  one  leads  at  the  window 
there  ! 

2. 

Something  to  see,  by   Bacchus,  something  to  hear,  at 

Iwist ! 

There,  the  whole  day  long,  one's  life  is  a  perfect  feast ; 
While  up  at  a  villa  one  lives,  I  maintain  it,  no  more  than 

a  beast. 

3. 

Well  now,  look  at  our  villa !  stuck  like  the  horn  of  a 

bull 


UP  Al  A  VILLA DOWN  IN  THE  CUT.  17 

Just  on  a  mountain's   edge   as  bare   as  the  creature's 

skull, 
Save  a  mere  shag  of  a  bush  with  hardly  a  leaf  to 

pull! 
—  I  scratch  my  own,  sometimes,  to  see  if  the  hair 's 

turned  wool. 


But  the  city,  oh  the  city — the  square  with  the  houses 

Why? 
They  are  stone-faced,  white  as  a  curd,  there 's  something 

to  take  the  eye ! 

Houses  hi  four  straight  lines,  not  a  single  front  awry  I 
You  watch  who  crosses  and  gossips,  who  saunters,  who 

hurries  by : 
jfreen  blinds,  as  a  matter  of  course,  to  draw  when  the 

sun  gets  high ; 
And  the  shops  with  fanciful  signs  which  are   painted 

properly. 

5. 

What  of  a  villa  t    Though  whiter  be  over  hi  March  by 

rights, 
Tis  May  perhaps  ere  the  snow  shall  have  withered  well 

off  the  heights : 
V'ou  've  the  brown  ploughed  land  before,  where  the  oxen 

steam  and  wheeze, 
Ajid  the  hills  over-smoked  behind  by  the  feint  gray  olive 

trees. 


18  UP  AT  A  VLLLA  —  DOWN  IN  THE  CITT. 

6. 

Is  it  better  in  May,  I  ask  you?  you've  summer  all  at 

once; 
In  a  day  he  leaps  complete  with  a  few  strong  April 

suns ! 
'Mid  the  sharp  short  emerald  wheat,  scarce  risen  tlm:e 

fingers  well, 
The  wild  tulip,  at  end  of  its  tube,  blows  out  ita  great  red 

bell, 
Like  a  thin  clear  bubble  of  blood,  for  the  children  to  pick 

and  sell. 

7. 

Is  it  ever  hot  in  the  square  ?  There 's  a  fountain  to 
spout  and  splash ! 

In  the  shade  it  sings  and  springs  ;  hi  the  shine  such  foam- 
bows  flash 

On  the  horses  with  curling  fish-tails,  that  prance  and 
paddle  and  pash 

Round  the  lady  atop  hi  the  conch  —  fifty  gazers  do  not 
abash, 

Though  all  that  she  wears  is  some  weeds  round  her  waist 
in  a  sort  of  sash  ! 


All  the  year  long  at  the  villa,  nothing  's  to  see  though 

you  linger, 
Except  yon  cypress  that  points  like  Death's  lean  li 

forefinger. 


UP  AT  A  VILLA  —  DOWN  IN  THE  CITY.  19 

Some  think  fireflies  pretty,  when  they  mix  hi  the  corn 

and  mingle, 
Or  tlirid  the   stinking  hemp  till  the  stalks  of  it  seem 

a-tingle. 
Late  August  or  early  September,  the  stunning  cicala  ia 

shrill, 
And  the   bees   keep   their   tiresome   whine   round   the 

resinous  firs  on  the  hill. 
Enough  of  the  seasons,  —  I  spare  you  the  months  of  the 

fever  and  chill. 

9. 

Ere  opening  your  eyes  in  the  city,  the  blessed  church- 
bells  begin  : 
No  sooner  the  bells  leave  off,  than  the  diligence  rattles 

hi: 
You  get  the  pick  of  the  news,  and  it  costs  you  never  a 

pin. 
By  and  by  there 's  the  travelling  doctor  gives  pills,  lets 

blood,  draws  teeth ; 

Or  the  Pulcinello-trumpet  breaks  up  the  market  beneath. 
At  the  post-office  such  a  scene-picture  —  the  new  play. 

piping  hot ! 
And  a  notice  how,  only  this  morning,  three  liberal  thieves 

were  shot. 
tVbove   it,   behold   the    archbishop's    most  fatherly   of 

rebukes, 
beneath,  with  his  crown  and  his  lion,  some  little  new 

law  of  the  Duke's ! 


tO  UP  AT  A  VILLA  —  DOWN  IN  THE  CITT. 

Or  a  sonnet  with  flowery  marge,  to  the  Reverend  Don 

So-and-so 
Who  is  Dante,  Boccaccio,  Petrarca,  Saint  Jerome,  and 

Cicero, 
*  And  moreover, "  (the  sonnet  goes  rhyming,)  "  the  skirts 

of  St.  Paul  has  reached, 
Having    preached    us    those    six    Lent-lectures    more 

unctuous  than  ever  he  preached." 
Noon  strikes,  —  here  sweeps  the  procession  !  our  Lady 

borne  smiling  and  smart 
With  a  pink  gauze  gown  all  spangles,  and  seven  swords 

stuck  in  her  heart ! 

Bang,  wkang,  whang,  goes  the  drum,  tootle-te-tootle  the  fife ; 
No  keeping  one's  haunches  still :  it 's  the  greatest  pleasure 

in  life. 

10. 

But  bless  you,   it'  s   dear  —  it' s  dear !   fowls,    wine,  at 

double  the  rate. 
They  have  clapped  a  new  tax  upon  salt,  and  what  oil 

pays  passing  the  gate 
It 's  a  horror  to  think  of.     And  so,  the  villa  for  me,  not 

the  city ! 
Beggars  can  scarcely  be  choosers  —  but  still  —  ah,  the 

pity,  the  pity ! 
Look,  two  and  two  go  the  priests,  then  the  monks  with 

cowls  and  sandals, 
And  the  penitents  dressed  in  white  shirts,  a-holding  the 

yellow  candles. 


UP  AT  A  VILLA  —  DOWN  IN  THE  CITT.  21 

One,  he  carries  a  flag  up  straight,  and  another  a  cross 

with  handles, 
And  the  Duke's  guard  brings  up  the  rear,  for  the  better 

prevention  of  scandals. 
Bang,  whang,  whang,  goes  the  drum,  tootle-te-tootle  the 

fife. 
Oh,  a  day  in  the  city-square,  there  is  no  such  pleasure  in 

Ufa! 


&  WOMAN'S  LAST  WORD. 

l. 

LET'S  contend  no  more,  Love, 

Strive  nor  weep  — 
All  be  as  before,  Love, 

—  Only  sleep ! 

2. 

What  so  wild  as  words  are  ? 

—  I  and  thou 

In  debate,  as  birds  are, 
Hawk  on  bought 


See  the  creature  stalking 
While  we  speak  — 

Hush  and  hide  the  talking, 
Cheek  on  cheek ! 


A  WOMAN'S  LAST  WORD.  83 

4. 

What  so  false  as  truth  is, 

False  to  thee  ? 
Where  the  serpent's  tooth  u, 

Shun  the  tree  — 


Where  the  apple  reddens 

Never  pry  — 
Lest  we  lose  our  Kdens, 

Eve  and  I ! 

6. 

Be  a  god  and  hold  me 

With  a  charm  — 
Be  a  man  and  fold  me 

With  thine  arm  1 

7. 

Teach  me,  only  teach,  Love  I 

As  I  ought 
I  will  speak  thy  speech,  Love, 

Think  thy  thought  — 

8. 

Meet,  if  thou  require  it, 

Both  demands, 
Laying  flesh  and  spirit 

In  thy  hands  ! 


A  WOMAN'S  LASI  WOBIV. 

9. 

That  shall  be  to-morrow 

Not  to-night : 
I  must  bury  sorrow 

Out  of  sight. 

10. 

—  Must  a  little  weep,  Love, 

—  Foolish  me ! 
And  so  fall  asleep,  Love, 

Loved  by  thee. 


FRA  LIPPO  LIPPL 

1  Ail  poor  brother  Lippo,  by  your  leave ! 

You  need  not  clap  your  torches  to  my  face. 

Zooks,  what 's  to  blame  ?  you  think  you  see  a  monk ! 

What,  it 's  past  midnight,  and  you  go  the  rounds, 

And  here  you  catch  me  at  an  alley's  end 

Where  sportive  ladies  leave  their  doors  ajar. 

The  Carmine 's  my  cloister :  hunt  it  up, 

Do,  —  harry  out,  if  you  must  show  your  zeal, 

Whatever  rat,  there,  haps  on  his  wrong  hole, 

And  nip  each  softling  of  a  wee  white  mouse, 

Weke,  weke,  that's  crept  to  keep  him  company! 

Aha,  you  know  your  betters  ?     Then,  you  '11  take 

Your  hand  away  that's  fiddling  on  my  throat, 

And  please  to  know  me  likewise.     Who  am  I  ? 

Why,  one,  sir,  who  is  lodging  with  a  friend 

Three  streets  off —  he  's  a  certain  .  .  .  how  d'ye  call  ? 

Master —  a  ...  Cosimo  of  the  Medici, 

In  the  house  that  caps  the  corner.     Boh  !  you  were 

Remember  and  tell  me,  the  day  you  're  hanged, 


86  FRA    LIPPO    LIPPI. 

How  you  affected  such  a  gullet's-gripe  ! 

But  you,  sir,  it  concerns  you  that  your  knates 

Pick  up  a  manner  nor  discredit  you. 

Zooks,  are  we  pilchards,  that  they  sweep  the  streets 

And  count  fair  prize  what  comes  into  their  net  ? 

He 's  Judas  to  a  tittle,  that  man  is  ! 

Just  such  a  face !  why,  sir,  you  make  amends. 

Lord,  I  'm  not  angry  !     Bid  your  hangdogs  go 

Drink  out  this  quarter-florin  to  the  health 

Of  the  munificent  House  that  harbours  me 

(And  many  more  beside,  lads  !  more  beside  !) 

And  all's  come  square  again.     I'd  like  his  face  — 

His,  elbowing  on  his  comrade  in  the  door 

With  the  pike  and  lantern,  —  for  the  slave  that  holds 

John  Baptist's  head  a-dangle  by  the  hair 

With  one  hand  ("  look  you,  now,"  as  who  should  say) 

And  his  weapon  in  the  other,  yet  unwiped ! 

It 's  not  your  chance  to  have  a  bit  of  chalk, 

A  wood-coal  or  the  like  ?  or  you  should  see  ! 

Yes,  I  'm  the  painter,  since  you  style  me  so. 

What,  brother  Lippo's  doings,  up  and  down, 

Von  know  them  and  they  take  you  ?  like  enough  ! 

[  saw  the  proper  twinkle  in  your  eye  — 

Tell  you  I  liked  your  looks  at  very  first. 

Let 's  sit  and  set  things  straight  now,  hip  to  haunch. 

Here 's  spring  come,  and  the  nights  one  makes  up  bani 

To  roam  the  town  and  sing  out  carnival, 

And  I  Ve  been  three  weeks  shut  within  my  mew, 

A -painting  for  the  great  man,  saints  and  saints 


KRA    L1PPO    LIPPI.  17 

And  saints  again.     I  could  not  paint  all  night  — - 

Ouf !    I  leaned  out  of  window  for  fresh  air. 

There  came  a  hurry  of  feet  and  little  feet, 

A  sweep  of  lutestrings,  laughs,  and  whifts  of  song,  — 

Flower  o*  the  broom, 

Take  away  love,  and  our  earth  is  a  tomb  ! 

Flower  o'  the  quince, 

I  let  Lisa  go,  and  what  good's  in  life  since  ? 

Flower  0'  the  thyme  —  and  so  on.     Round  they  went. 

Scarce  had  they  turned  the  corner  when  a  titter, 

Like  the  skipping  of  rabbits  by  moonlight,  —  three  slim 

shapes  — 

And  a  face  that  looked  up  ...  zooks,  sir,  flesh  and  blood, 
That's  all  I'm  made  of!     Into  shreds  it  went, 
Curtain  and  counterpane  and  coverlet, 
All  the  bed  furniture  —  a  dozen  knots, 
There  was  a  ladder  !  down  I  let  myself, 
Hands  and  feet,  scrambling  somehow,  and  so  dropped, 
And  after  them.     I  came  up  with  the  fun 
Hard  by  St.  Laurence,  hail  fellow,  well  met,  — 
Flower  o'  the  rose, 

If  Pve  been  merry,  what  matter  who  knows  ? 
And  so  as  I  was  stealing  back  again 
To  get  to  bed  and  have  a  bit  of  sleep 
Ere  I  rise  up  to-morrow  and  go  work 
On  Jerome  knocking  at  his  poor  old  breast 
With  his  great  round  stone  to  subdue  the  flesh, 
fou  snap  me  of  the  sudden.     Ah,  I  see  ! 
Though  you-  eye  twinkles  still,  you  shake  your  head  — 


t8  FRA   LIPPO    LIPPI. 

Mine's  shaved,  —  a  monk,  you  say  —  the  sting's  in  that 

If  Master  Cosimo  announced  himself, 

Mum 's  the  word  naturally  ;  but  a  monk  ! 

Come,  what  am  I  a  beast  for  ?  tell  us,  now  ! 

I  was  a  baby  when  my  mother  died 

And  father  died  and  left  me  in  the  street. 

I  starved  there,  God  knows  how,  a  year  or  two 

On  fig-skins,  melon-parings,  rinds  and  shucks, 

Refuse  and  rubbish.     One  fine  frosty  day 

My  stomach  being  empty  as  your  hat, 

The  wind  doubled  me  up  and  down  I  went. 

Old  Aunt  Lapaccia  trussed  me  with  one  hand, 

(Its  fellow  was  a  stinger  as  I  knew) 

And  so  along  the  wall,  over  the  bridge, 

By  the  straight  cut  to  the  convent.     Six  words,  there, 

While  I  stood  munching  my  first  bread  that  month : 

K  So,  boy,  you  're  minded,"  quoth  the  good  fat  father 

Wiping  his  own  mouth,  'twas  refection-tune,  — 

*  To  quit  this  very  miserable  world  ? 

Will    you    renounce "...   The    mouthful  of   bread  / 

thought  I ; 

By  no  means  !     Brief,  they  made  a  monk  of  me  ; 
I  did  renounce  the  world,  its  pride  and  greed, 
Palace,  farm,  villa,  shop  and  banking-house, 
Trash,  such  as  these  poor  devils  of  Medici 
Have  given  their  hearts  to  —  all  at  eight  years  old. 
Well,  sir,  I  found  in  time,  you  may  be  sure, 
Twas  not  for  nothing  —  the  good  bellyful, 
The  warm  serge  and  the  rope  that  goes  all  round, 


FBA    LIPPO    L1PPI.  29 

And  day-long  blessed  idleness  beside  ! 
"  Let 's  see  wbat  the  urchin 's  fit  for  "  —  that  came  next 
Not  overmuch  their  way,  I  must  confess. 
Such  a  to-do  !  they  tried  me  with  their  books. 
Lord,  they  'd  have  taught  me  Latin  in  pure  waste  I 
Flower  d1  the  clove, 

All  the  Latin  I  construe  is,  "  amo"  I  love!. 
But,  mind  you,  when  a  boy  starves  in  the  streets 
Eight  years  together,  as  my  fortune  was, 
Watching  folk's  faces  to  know  who  will  fling 
The  bit  of  half-stripped  grape-bunch  he  desires, 
And  who  will  curse  or  kick  him  for  his  pains  — 
Which  gentleman  processional  and  fine, 
Holding  a  candle  to  the  Sacrament 
Will  wink  and  let  him  lift  a  plate  and  catch 
The  droppings  of  the  wax  to  sell  again, 
Or  holla  for  the  Eight  and  have  him  whipped,  — 
How  say  I  ?  —  nay,  which  dog  bites,  which  lets  drop 
His  bone  from  the  heap  of  offal  in  the  street  1 
—  The  soul  and  sense  of  him  grow  sharp  alike, 
He  learns  the  look  of  things,  and  none  the  less 
For  admonitions  from  the  hunger-pinch. 
I  had  a  store  of  such  remarks,  be  sure, 
Which,  after  I  found  leisure,  turned  to  use : 
f  drew  men's  faces  on  my  copy-books, 
Scrawled  them  within  the  antiphonary's  marge, 
Domed  legs  and  arms  to  the  long  music-notes, 
Found  nose  and  eyes  and  chin  for  A.s  and  B.S, 
made  a  string  of  pictures  of  the  world 


50  FRA    LIPPO    ~IPPL 

Betwixt  the  ins  and  outs  of  verb  and  noun, 

On  the  wall,  the  bench,  the  door.     The  io<mk«  loored 

black. 

u  Nay,"  quoth  the  Prior,  "  turn  him  out,  d'ye  say  ? 
In  no  wise.     Lose  a  crow  and  catch  a  lark. 
What  if  at  last  we  get  our  man  of  parts, 
We  Carmelites,  like  those  Camaldolese 
And  Preaching  Friars,  to  do  our  church  up  fine 
And  put  the  front  on  it  that  ought  to  be !  " 
And  hereupon  they  bade  me  daub  away. 
Thank  you !  my   head  being   crammed,  their  walls  • 

blank, 

Never  was  such  prompt  disemburdening. 
First,  every  sort  of  monk,  the  black  and  white, 
I  drew  them,  fat  and  lean :  then,  folks  at  church, 
From  good  old  gossips  waiting  to  confess 
Their  cribs  of  barrel-droppings,  candle-ends,  — 
To  the  breathless  fellow  at  the  altar-foot, 
Fresh  from  his  murder,  safe  and  sitting  there 
With  the  little  children  round  him  in  a  row 
Of  admiration,  hah0  for  his  beard  and  half 
For  that  white  anger  of  his  victim's  son 
Shaking  a  fist  at  him  with  one  fierce  arm, 
Signing  himself  with  the  other  because  of  Christ 
(Whose  sad  face  on  the  cross  sees  only  this 
After  the  passion  of  a  thousand  years) 
Till  some  poor  girl,  her  apron  o'er  her  head 
Which  the  intense  eyes  looked  through,  came  at  en 
On  tiptoe,  said  a  word,  dropped  in  a  loaf. 


FUA    LIPPO    LIPPI  81 

Her  pair  ol  ear-rings  and  a  bunch  of  flowers 

The  brute  took  growling,  prayed,  and  then  was  gone. 

I  painted  all,  then  cried   "  'tis  ask  and  have  — 

Choose,  for  more  's  ready  !  "  —  laid  the  ladder  flat, 

And  showed  my  covered  bit  of  cloister- wall. 

The  monks  closed  in  a  circle  and  praised  loud 

Till  checked,  (taught  what  to  see  and  not  to  see 

Being  simple  bodies)  "  that 's  the  very  man  ! 

Look  at  the  boy  who  stoops  to  pat  the  dog! 

That  woman  's  like  the  Prior's  niece  who  comes 

To  care  about  his  asthma  :  it 's  the  life  !  " 

But  there  my  triumph  's  straw-fire  flared  and  funked  — 

Their  betters  took  their  turn  to  see  and  say : 

The  Prior  and  the  learned  pulled  a  face 

And  stopped  all  that  in  no  tune.     "  How  ?  what 's  here  i 

Quite  from  the  mark  of  painting,  bless  us  all ! 

Faces,  arms,  legs  and  bodies  like  the  true 

As  much  as  pea  and  pea  !  it 's  devil's-game  ! 

Your  business  is  not  to  catch  men  with  show, 

With  homage  to  the  perishable  clay, 

But  lift  them  over  it,  ignore  it  all, 

Make  them  forget  there  's  such  a  thing  af  flesh. 

Your  business  is  to  paint  the  souls  of  men  — 

Man's  soul,  and  it 's  a  fire,  smoke  .  .  no  it 's  not  .  . 

It 's  vapour  done  up  like  a  new-born  babe  — 

(In  that  shape  when  you  die  it  leaves  your  mouth) 

It  'a  .  .  w  ell,  what  matters  talking,  it 's  the  soul  1 

GIT  3  us  no  more  of  body  than  shrws  soul. 

Here  's  Giotto,  with  his  Saint  a-praising  God  1 


S3  FKA    LIPPO    LIPPI. 

That  sets  you  praising,  —  why  not  stop  with  him  ? 
Why  put  all  thoughts  of  praise  out  of  our  heads 
With  wonder  at  lines,  colours,  and  what  not? 
Paint  the  soul,  never  mind  the  legs  and  arms  ! 
Rub  all  out,  try  at  it  a  second  time. 
Oh,  that  white  smallish  female  with  the  breasts, 
She  's  just  my  niece  .  .  .  Herodias,  I  would  say,  — 
Who  went  and  danced  and  got  men's  heads  cut  off— 
Have  it  all  out ! "     Now,  is  this  sense,  I  ask  ? 
A  fine  way  to  paint  soul,  by  painting  body 
So  ill,  the  eye  can't  stop  there,  must  go  further 
And  can't  fare  worse  !     Thus,  yellow  does  for  white 
When  what  you  put  for  yellow  's  simply  black, 
And  any  sort  of  meaning  looks  intense 
When  all  beside  itself  means  and  looks  nought. 
Why  can't  a  painter  lift  each  foot  in  turn, 
Left  foot  and  right  foot,  go  a  double  step, 
Make  his  flesh  liker  and  his  soul  more  like, 
Both  hi  their  order  ?     Take  the  prettiest  face, 
The  Prior's  niece  .  .  .  patron-saint  —  is  it  so  pretty 
You  can't  discover  if  it  means  hope,  fear, 
Sorrow  or  joy  ?     won't  beauty  go  with  these  ? 
Suppose  I  Ve  made  her  eyes  all  right  and  blue, 
Can't  I  take  breath  and  try  to  add  life's  flash, 
And  then  add  soul  and  heighten  them  threefold  r 
Or  say  there 's  beauty  with  no  soul  at  all  — 
'^1  never  saw  it  —  put  the  case  the  same  — ) 
\f  you  get  simple  beauty  and  nought  else, 
get  about  tJin  best  thing  God  invents,  — 


*RA    LIPPO    L1PPI.  88 

That's  somewhat.    And  you  11  find  the  soul  you  hare 

missed, 

Within  yourself  when  you  return  Him  thanks  I 
w  Rub  all  out ! "  well,  well,  there 's  my  life,  in  short, 
And  so  the  thing  has  gone  on  ever  since. 
I  'm  grown  a  man  no  doubt,  I  've  broken  bounds  — 
You  should  not  take  a  fellow  eight  years  old 
And  make  him  swear  to  never  kiss  the  girls  — 
I  'm  my  own  master,  paint  now  as  I  please  — 
Having  a  friend,  you  see,  in  the  Corner-house  ! 
Lord,  it 's  fast  holding  by  the  rings  in  front  — 
Those  great  rings  serve  more  purposes  than  just 
To  plant  a  flag  in,  or  tie  up  a  horse  ! 
And  yet  the  old  schooling  sticks  —  the  old  grave  eyes 
Are  peeping  o'er  my  shoulder  as  I  work, 
The  heads  shake  still  —  "  It 's  Art's  decline,  my  son ! 
You  're  not  of  the  true  painters,  great  and  old : 
Brother  Angelico  's  the  man,  you  '11  find  : 
Brother  Lorenzo  stands  his  single  peer. 
Fag  on  at  flesh,  you  '11  never  make  the  third  I " 
Flower  o'  the  pine, 

You  keep  your  mistr  . . .  manners,  and  I'll  stick  to  mint  ' 
I  'm  not  the  third,  then  :  bless  us,  they  must  know ! 
Don't  you  think  they  're  the  likeliest  to  know, 
They,  with  their  Latin  ?  so  I  swallow  my  rage, 
Clench  my  teeth,  suck  my  lips  in  tight,  and  paint 
To  please  them  —  sometimes  do,  and  sometimes  don't, 
For,  doing  most,  there 's  pretty  sure  to  come 
4  turn  —  some  warm  eve  finds  me  at  my  saints  — 
f 


34-  FKA    LIPFO    LIPPI. 

A  laugh,  a  cry,  the  business  of  the  world  — 

(Flower  o'  the  peach, 

Death  for  us  all,  and  his  own  life  for  each  /) 

And  my  whole  soul  revolves,  the  cup  runs  o'er, 

The  world  and  life 's  too  big  to  pass  for  a  dream, 

And  I  do  these  wild  things  in  sheer  despite, 

And  play  the  fooleries  you  catch  me  at, 

In  pure  rage  !  the  old  mill-horse,  out  at  grass 

After  hard  years,  throws  up  his  stiff  heels  so, 

Although  the  miller  does  not  preach  to  him 

The  only  good  of  grass  is  to  make  chaff. 

What  would  men  have  ?     Do  they  like  grass  or  no  • 

May  they  or  mayn't  they  ?  all  I  want 's  the  thing 

Settled  forever  one  way :  as  it  is, 

You  tell  too  many  lios  and  hurt  yourself. 

You  don't  like  what  you  only  like  too  much, 

You  do  like  what,  if  given  you  at  your  word, 

You  find  abundantly  detestable. 

Foi  me,  I  think  I  speak  as  I  was  taught  — 

I  always  see  the  Garden  and  God  there 

A-making  man's  wife  —  and,  my  lesson  learned, 

The  value  and  significance  of  flesh, 

I  can't  unlearn  ten  minutes  afterward. 

You  understand  me  :  I  'm  a  beast,  I  know. 
But  see,  now  —  why,  I  see  as  certainly 
As  that  the  morning-star's  about  to  shine, 
What  will  hap  some  day.     We  Ve  a  youngster  here 
Comes  to  our  convent,  studies  what  I  do, 
Slouches  and  stares  and  lets  no  atom  drop  — 


FRA    L1PPO    LIPPI.  35 

His  name  is  Guidi  —  he  '11  not  mind  the  monks  — 

They  call  him  Hulking  Tom,  he  lets  them  talk  — 

He  picks  my  practice  up  —  he  '11  paint  apace, 

I  hope  so  —  though  I  never  live  so  long, 

I  know  what 's  sure  to  follow.     You  be  judge  ! 

You  speak  no  Latin  more  than  I,  belike  — 

However,  you  're  my  man,  you  've  seen  the  world 

—  The  beauty  and  the  wonder  and  the  power, 

The  shapes  of  things,  their  colours,  lights  and  shades, 

Changes,  surprises,  —  and  God  made  it  all ! 

• —  For  what  ?  do  you  feel  thankful,  ay  or  no, 

For  this  fair  town's  face,  yonder  river's  line. 

The  mountain  round  it  and  the  sky  above, 

Much  more  the  figures  of  man,  woman,  child, 

These  are  the  frame  to  ?     What 's  it  all  about  ? 

To  be  passed  o'er,  despised  ?  or  dwelt  upon, 

Wondered  at  ?  oh,  this  last  of  course,  you  say 

But  why  not  do  as  well  as  say,  —  paint  these 

Just  as  they  are,  careless  what  comes  of  it  ? 

God's  works  —  paint  any  one,  and  count  it  crime 

To  let  a  truth  slip.     Don't  object,  "  His  works 

Are  here  already  —  nature  is  complete : 

Suppose  you  reproduce  her —  (which  you  can't) 

There 's  no  advantage  !  you  must  beat  her,  then." 

For,  don't  you  mark,  we  're  made  so  that  we  love 

First  when  we  see  them  painted,  things  we  have  passed 

Perhaps  a  hundred  tim  3s  nor  cared  to  see  ; 

And  so  they  are  better,  painted  —  better  to  us, 

Which  is  the  same  thing.     Art  was  given  for  that  — 


86  FEA   LIPPO    LIPPI. 

God  uses  us  to  help  each  other  so, 

Lending  our  minds  out.     Have  you  noticed,  now, 

Your  cullion's  hanging  face  ?     A  bit  of  chalk, 

And  trust  me  but  you  should,  though  !     How  much  mora 

If  I  drew  higher  things  with  the  same  truth ! 

That  were  to  take  the  Prior's  pulpit-place, 

Interpret  God  to  all  of  you !  oh,  oh, 

It  makes  me  mad  to  see  what  men  shall  do 

And  we  in  our  graves !     This  world 's  no  blot  for  us, 

Nor  blank  —  it  means  intensely,  and  means  good : 

To  find  its  meaning  is  my  meat  and  drink. 

M  Ay,  but  you  don't  so  instigate  to  prayer  " 

Strikes  in  the  Prior !  "  when  your  meaning 's  plain 

It  does  not  say  to  folks  —  remember  matins  — 

Or,  mind  you  fast  next  Friday."     Why,  for  this 

What  need  of  art  at  all  ?     A  skull  and  bones, 

Two  bits  of  stick  nailed  cross- wise,  or,  what's  best, 

A  bell  to  chime  the  hour  with,  does  as  well. 

I  painted  a  St.  Laurence  six  months  since 

At  Prato,  splashed  the  fresco  in  fine  style. 

u  How  looks  my  painting,  now  the  scaffold 's  down  ?  " 

I  ask  a  brother  :     "  Hugely,"  he  returns  — 

u  Already  not  one  phiz  of  your  three  slaves 

That  turn  the  Deacon  off  his  toasted  side, 

But's  scratched  and  prodded  to  our  heart's  content, 

The  pious  people  have  so  eased  their  own 

WTien  coming  to  say  prayers  there  in  a  rage. 

W^e  get  on  fast  to  see  the  bricks  beneath. 

Expect  another  job  this  time  next  year. 


FBA    LIPPO    LIPPL  87 

For  pity  and  religion  grow  i'  the  crowd  — 

Your  painting  serves  its  purpose  ! "     Hang  the  fools 

—  That  is  —  you  '11  not  mistake  an  idle  word 
Spoke  in  a  huff  by  a  poor  monk,  God  wot, 
Tasting  the  air  this  spicy  night  which  turns 
The  unaccustomed  head  like  Chianti  wine ! 
Oh,  the  church  knows  !  don't  misreport  me,  now  I 
It's  natural  a  poor  monk  out  of  bounds 
Should  have  his  apt  word  to  excuse  himself: 
And  hearken  how  I  plot  to  make  amends. 
I  have  bethought  me :  I  shall  paint  a  piece 
. .  .  There  's  for  you  !     Give  me  six  months,  then  go,  Me 
Something  in  Sant*  Ambrogio's  . .  .  (bless  the  nuns  I 
They  want  a  cast  of  my  office)  I  shall  paint 
God  in  the  midst,  Madonna  and  her  babe, 
Kinged  by  a  bowery,  flowery  angel-brood, 
Lilies  and  vestments  and  white  faces,  sweet 
As  puff  on  puff  of  grated  orris-root 
When  ladies  crowd  to  church  at  midsummer. 
And  then  in  the  front,  of  course  a  saint  or  two  — 
Saint  John,  because  he  saves  the  Florentines, 
Saint  Ambrose,  who  puts  down  in  black  and  white 
The  convent's  friends  and  gives  them  a  long  day, 
And  Job,  I  must  have  him  there  past  mistake, 
The  man  of  Uz,  (and  Us  without  the  z, 
Painters  who  need  his  patience.)     "Well,  all  these 
Secured  at  their  devotions,  up  shall  come 
Out  of  a  corner  when  you  least  expect, 
A*  one  by  a  dark  stair  into  a  great  light 


58  /TRA   LIPPO    LIPPI. 

Music  and  talking,  who  but  Lippo !  I !  — 

Mazed,  motionless  and  moon-struck  —  I  'm  the  man ! 

Back  I  shrink  —  what  is  this  I  see  and  hear  ? 

I,  caught  up  with  my  monk's  things  by  mistake, 

My  old  serge  gown  and  rope  that  goes  all  round, 

I,  in  this  presence,  this  pure  company  ! 

Where 's  a  hole,  where 's  a  corner  for  escape  ? 

Then  steps  a  sweet  angelic  slip  of  a  thing 

Forward,  puts  out  a  soft  palm  —  "  Not  so  fast ! " 

—  Addresses  the  celestial  presence,  "  nay  — 

He  made  you  and  devised  you,  after  all, 

Though  he 's  none  of  you !  Could  Saint  John  there,  draw- 

His  camel-hair  make  up  a  painting-brush  ? 

We  come  to  brother  Lippo  for  all  that, 

hte  perfecit  opus  !  "  So,  all  smile  — 

I  shuffle  sideways  with  my  blushing  face 

Under  the  cover  of  a  hundred  wings 

Thrown  like  a  spread  of  kirtles  when  you  're  gay 

And  play  hot  cockles,  all  the  doors  being  shut, 

Till,  wholly  unexpected,  in  there  pops 

The  hothead  husband  !     Thus  I  scuttle  off 

To  some  safe  bench  behind,  not  letting  go 

The  palm  of  her,  the  little  lily  thing 

That  spoke  the  good  word  for  me  in  the  nick, 

Like  the  Prior's  niece  .  .  .  Saint  Lucy,  I  would  say. 

And  so  all's  saved  for  me,  and  for  the  church 

A  pretty  picture  gained.     Go,  six  months  hence  I 

Tour  hand,  sir,  and  good  bye  :  no  lights,  no  lights ! 

The  street 's  hushed,  and  I  know  my  own  way  back  — 

Don't  fear  me  !  There 's  the  gray  beginning.     Zooks  I 


A  TOCCATA  OP  GALUPPI'8. 

1. 

OH,  Galuppi,  Baldassaro,  this  is  very  sad  to  find  I 

I  can  hardly  misconceive  you ;  it  would  prove  me  deaf 

and  blind ; 
But  although  I  give  you  credit,  'tis  with  such  a  heavy 

mind  I 

2. 

Here  you  come  with  your  old  music,  and  here's  all  the 

good  it  brings. 

What,  they  lived  once  thus  at  Venice,  where  the  mer- 
chants were  the  kings, 

Where  St.  Mark's  is,  where  the  Doges  used  to  wed  the 

sea  with  rings  ? 

3. 

Ay,  because  the  sea 's  the  street  there ;  and  'tis  arched 

by ...  what  you  call 

.  .  Shylock's  bridge  with  houses  on  it,  where  they  kepi 

the  carnival  1 

I  was  never  out  of  England  —  it's  as  if  I  saw  it  all! 


40  A    TOCCATA    OF    GALUPPl'S. 

4. 

Did  young  people  take  their  pleasure  when  the  sea  was 

warm  in  May? 

Balls  and  masks  begun  at  midnight,  burning  ever  to  mid- 
day, 

When  they  made  up  fresh  adventures  for  the  morrow, 

do  you  say  ? 

5. 

Was  a  lady  such  a  lady,  cheeks  so  round  and  lips  an 

red, — 
')n  her  neck  the  small  face  buoyant,  like  a  bell-flower  on 

its  bed, 
O'er  the  breast's  superb  abundance  where  a  man  might 

base  his  head  ? 

6. 

Well  (and  it  was  graceful  of  them)  they  'd  break  talk 

off  and  afford 

—  She,  to  bite  her  mask's  black  velvet,  he  to  finger  on 

his  sword, 

While  you  sat  and  played  Toccatas,  stately  at  the 

clavichord  ? 


What?  Those  lesser  thirds  so  plaintive,  sixths  dimin- 
ished, sigh  on  sigh, 

Told  them  something?  Those  suspensions,  those  solo 

tions — "  Must  we  die  ?  " 


A   TOCCATA    OF    GALUPPl'S.  41 

rhose  commiserating  sevenths  —  u  Life  might  last  I  we 
can  but  try  I " 

8. 

"  Were  you  happy  ?  "  —  "  Yes."  —  "  And  are  you  still  as 
happy  ?  "  —  «  Yes  —  And  you  ?" 

—"Then  more  kisses" — "Did  /stop  them,  when  a 
million  seemed  so  few  ?  " 

Hark  —  the  dominant's  persistence,  till  it  must  be  an- 
swered to  1 


So  an  octave  struck  the  answer.     Oh,  they  praised  you, 

I  dare  say ! 
u  Brave  Galuppi !  that  was  music !  good  alike  at  grave 

and  gay ! 
I  can  always  leave  off  talking,  when  I  hear  a  master 

play." 

10. 

Then  they  left  you  for  their  pleasure :  till  in  due  tune, 

one  by  one, 
Some  with  lives  that  came  to  nothing,  some  with  deeds 

as  well  undone, 
Death  came  tacitly  and  took  them  where  they  never  see 

the  sun. 

II. 

But  when  I  sit  down  to  reason,  —  think  to  take  my  stand 
nor  swerve 


42  A   TOCCATA    OF    GALCPPl'S. 

Kll  I  triumph  o'er  a  secret  wrung  from  nature's  close 

reserve, 

In  you  come  with  your  cold  music,  till  I  creep  thro' 

every  nerve. 

12. 

Yes,  you,  like  a  ghostly  cricket,  creaking  where  a  hou«e 

was  burned  — 

"  Dust  and  ashes,  dead  and  done  with,  Venice  spent  what 

Venice  earned  ! 

The  soul,  doubtless,  is  immortal  —  where  a  soul  can  be 

discerned. 

18. 

*  Yours  for  instance,  you  know  physics,  something  of 

geology, 
Mathematics  are  your  pastime ;  souls  shall  rise  in  their 

degree ; 
Butterflies  may  dread  extinction,  —  you'll  not  die,  it 

cannot  be ! 

14. 

*  As  for  Venice  and  its  people,  merely  born  to  bloom  and 

drop, 
Here  on  earth  they  bore  their  fruitage,  mirth  and  folly 

were  the  crop. 
Wliat  of  soul  was  left,  I  wonder,  when  the  kissing  had  te 

stop? 


A    TOCCATA    OF    GAJLLTPl'S.  43 

15. 

*  Dust  and  ashes ! "  So  you  creak  it,  and  I  want  the 

heart  to  scold 

Dear  dead  women,  with  such  hair,  too  —  what 's  become 

of  all  the  gold 

Dsed  to  hang  and  brush  their  bosoms  ?  I  feel  chilly  aud 

s;rown  old. 


BY  THE  FIRESIDE. 

1. 

Bow  well  I  know  what  I  mean  to  do 
When  the  long  dark  Autumn  evenings  come, 

And  where,  my  soul,  is  thy  pleasant  hue  ? 
With  the  music  of  all  thy  voices,  dumb 

In  life's  November  too  ! 


2. 

I  shall  be  found  by  the  fire,  suppose, 

O'er  a  great  wise  book  as  beseemeth  age, 

While  the  shutters  flap  as  the  cross-wind  blows. 
And  I  turn  the  page,  and  I  turn  the  page, 

Not  verse  now,  only  prose  ! 


3. 

Till  the  young  ones  whisper,  finger  on  lip, 
"  There  he  is  at  it,  deep  in  Greek  — 

Now  or  never,  then,  out  we  slip 
To  cut  from  the  hazels  by  the  creek 

A  mainmast  for  our  ship." 


BY    THE    FLBESIDE.  49 

4. 

I  shall  be  at  it  indeed,  my  friends ' 

Greek  puts  already  on  either  side 
Such  a  branch-work  forth,  as  soon  extends 

To  a  vista  opening  far  and  wide, 
And  I  pass  out  where  it  ends. 

5. 
The  outside-frame  like  your  hazel-trees 

But  the  inside-archway  narrows  fast, 
And  a  rarer  sort  succeeds  to  these, 

And  we  slope  to  Italy  at  last 
And  youth,  by  green  degrees. 

6. 

I  follow  wherever  I  am  led, 

Knowing  so  well  the  leader's  hand  — 

Oh,  woman-country,  wooed,  not  wed, 

Loved  all  the  more  by  earth's  male-land*, 

Laid  to  their  hearts  instead  ! 


7. 

Look  at  the  ruined  chapel  again 
Half  way  up  in  the  Alpine  gorge. 

Is  that  a  tower,  I  point  you  plain, 
Or  is  it  a  mill  or  an  iron  forge 

Breaks  solitude  in  vain  ? 


46  BY    THE    IIKESIDE. 

8. 

A  turn,  and  we  stand  in  the  heart  of  things ; 

The  woods  are  round  us,  heaped  and  dim ; 
From  slab  to  slab  how  it  slips  and  springs, 

The  thread  of  water  single  and  slim, 
Thro'  the  ravage  some  torrent  brings  1 

9. 

Does  it  feed  the  little  lake  below  ? 

That  speck  of  white  just  on  its  marge 
Is  Pella  ;  see,  in  the  evening  glow 

How  sharp  the  silver  spear-heads  charge 
When  Alp  meets  Heaven  in  snow. 


10. 

On  our  other  side  is  the  straight-up  rock  ; 

And  a  path  is  kept  'twixt  the  gorge  and  it 
By  boulder-stones  where  lichens  mock 

The  marks  on  a  moth,  and  small  ferns  fit 
Ineir  teeth  to  the  polished  block. 

11. 

Oh,  the  sense  of  the  yellow  mountain  flowery 
And  the  thorny  balls,  each  three  in  one, 

The  chestnuts  throw  on  our  path  in  showers, 
For  the  drop  of  the  woodland  fruit's  begun 

These  early  November  hours  — 


THE    FIRESIDE.  47 


12. 

That  crimson  the  creeper's  leaf  across 
Like  a  splash  of  blood,  intense,  abrupt)  . 

O'er  a  shield,  else  gold  fi-om  rim  to  boss, 
And  lay  it  for  show  on  the  fairy-cupped 

Elf-needled  mat  of  moss, 


13. 

By  the  rose-flesh  mushrooms,  undivulged 
Last  evening  —  nay,  in  to-day's  first  dew 

Yon  sudden  coral  nipple  bulged 

Where  a  freaked,  fawn-coloured,  flaky  crew 

Of  toadstools  peep  indulged. 

14. 

And  yonder,  at  foot  of  the  fronting  ridge 
That  takes  the  turn  to  a  range  beyond, 

Is  the  chapel  reached  by  the  one-arched  bridge 
Where  the  water  is  stopped  in  a  stagnant  pond 

Danced  over  by  the  midge. 

15. 

The  chapel  and  bridge  are  of  stone  alike, 

Blackish  gray  and  mostly  wet  ; 
Cut  hemp-stalks  steep  in  the  narrow  dyke. 

See  here  again,  how  the  lichens  fret 
And  the  roots  of  the  ivy  strike  1 


48  BY    THE    FJ  RESIDE. 

16. 

Poor  little  place,  where  its  one  priest  comes 

On  a  fceta-day,  if  he  comes  at  all, 
To  the  dozen  folk  from  their  scattered  homes, 

Gathered  within  that  precinct  small 
By  the  dozen  ways  one  roams 

17. 

To  drop  from  the  charcoal-burners'  huts, 
Or  climb  from  the  hemp-dressers'  low  shed, 

Leave  the  grange  where  the  woodman  stores  his  nuts 
Or  the  wattled  cote  where  the  fowlers  spread 

Their  gear  on  the  rock's  bare  juts. 

18. 

It  has  some  pretension  too,  this  front, 

With  its  bit  of  fresco  half-moon-wise 
Set  over  the  porch,  art's  early  wont  — 

'Tis  John  in  the  Desert,  I  surmise, 
But  has  borne  the  weather's  brunt  — 


19. 

Not  from  the  fault  of  the  builder,  though, 
For  a  pent-house  properly  projects 

Where  three  carved  beams  make  a  certain  show, 
Dating  —  good  thought  of  our  architect's  — 

'Five,  six,  nine,  he  lets  you  know. 


BT    THE    FIRESIDE.  49 

20. 

And  all  day  long  a  bird  sings  there, 

And  a  stray  sheep  drinks  at  the  pond  at  times : 
The  place  is  silent  and  aware  ; 

It  has  had  its  scenes,  its  joys  and  crimes, 
But  that  is  its  own  affair. 


21. 

My  perfect  wife,  my  Leonor, 

Oh,  heart  my  own,  oh,  eyes,  mine  too, 
Whom  else  could  I  dare  look  backward  for, 

With  whom  beside  should  I  dare  pursue 
The  path  gray  heads  abhor  ? 


22. 

For  it  leads  to  a  crag's  sheer  edge  with  them ; 

Youth,  flowery  all  the  way,  there  stops  — 
Not  they  ;  age  threatens  and  they  contemn, 

Till  they  reach  the  gulf  wherein  youth  drops, 
One  inch  from  our  life's  safe  hem ! 


23. 

With  me,  youth  led  —  I  will  speak  now, 
No  longer  watch  you  as  you  sit 

(leading  by  fire-light,  that  great  brow 
And  the  spirit-small  hand  propping  it 

llutely  —  my  heart  knows  how  — 
a 


BY    THE    FIRESIDE. 

24. 

When,  if  I  think  but  deep  enough, 

You  are  wont  to  answer,  prompt  as  rhyme ; 
And  you,  too,  find  without  a  rebuff 

The  response  your  soul  seeks  many  a  time 
Piercing  its  fine  flesh-stuff — 

25. 

My  own,  confirm  me  !     If  I  tread 
This  path  back,  is  it  not  hi  pride 

To  think  how  little  I  dreamed  it  led 
To  an  age  so  blest  that  by  its  side 

Youth  seems  the  waste  instead  ! 


26. 

My  own,  see  where  the  years  conduct ! 

At  first,  'twas  something  our  two  souls 
Should  mix  as  mists  do :  each  is  sucked 

Into  each  now ;  on,  the  new  stream  rolls, 
Whatever  rocks  obstruct. 


27. 

Think,  when  our  one  soul  understands 

The  great  Word  which  makes  all  things  new  • 

When  earth  breaks  up  and  Heaven  expands  — 
How  will  the  change  strike  me  and  you 

In  the  House  not  made  with  hands  ? 


BY    THE   FIRESIDE. 
28. 

Oh,  I  must  feel  your  brain  prompt  mine) 

Your  heart  anticipate  my  heart, 
You  must  be  just  before,  in  fine, 

See  and  make  me  s"ee,  for  your  party 
New  depths  of  the  Divine  I 

29. 

But  who  could  have  expected  this, 
When  we  two  drew  together  first 

Just  for  the  obvious  human  bliss, 
To  satisfy  life's  daily  thirst 

With  a  thing  men  seldom  miss  ? 

30. 

Come  back  with  me  to  the  first  of  all, 
Let  us  lean  and  love  it  over  again  — 

Let  us  now  forget  and  then  recall, 
Break  the  rosary  in  a  pearly  rain, 

And  gather  what  we  let  fall 

81. 

What  did  I  say  ?  —  that  a  small  bird  sings 
All  day  long,  save  when  a  brown  pair 

Of  hawks  from  the  wood  float  with  wide  wings 
Strained  to  a  bell :  'gainst  the  noonday  glare 

You  count  the  streaks  and  rings. 


BT    THE    FIRESIDE. 
32. 

But  at  afternoon  or  almost  eve 
'Tis  better ;  then  the  silence  grows 

To  that  degree,  you  half  believe 
It  must  get  rid  of  what  it  knows, 

Its  bosom  does  so  heave. 

33. 

Hither  we  walked,  then,  side  by  side, 
Arm  in  arm  and  cheek  to  cheek, 

And  still  I  questioned  or  replied, 

While  my  heart,  convulsed  to  really  speak, 

Lay  choking  in  its  pride. 

34. 

Silent  the  crumbling  bridge  we  cross, 
And  pity  and  praise  the  chapel  sweet, 

And  care  about  the  fresco's  loss, 

And  wish  for  our  souls  a  like  retreat, 

And  wonder  at  the  moss. 

85. 

Stoop  and  kneel  on  the  settle  under  — 
Look  through  the  window's  grated  square : 

Nothing  to  see  !  for  fear  of  plunder. 
The  cross  is  down  and  the  altar  bare, 

As  if  thieves  don't  fear  thunder. 


BT   THK   FIRESIDE.  5ft 

36. 

We  stoop  and  look  in  through  the  grate, 

See  the  little  porch  and  rustic  door, 
Read  duly  the  dead  builder's  date, 

Then  cross  the  bridge  we  crossed  before, 
Take  the  path  again  —  but  wait ! 

87. 

Oh  moment,  one  and  infinite  ! 

The  water  slips  o'er  stock  and  stone ; 
The  west  is  tender,  hardly  bright. 

How  gray  at  once  is  the  evening  grown  — 
One  star,  the  chrysolite  ! 

38. 

We  two  stood  there  with  never  a  third, 
But  each  by  each,  as  each  knew  well. 

The  sights  we  saw  and  the  sounds  we  heard, 
The  lights  and  the  shades  made  up  a  spell 

Till  the  trouble  grew  and  stirred. 

39. 

Oh,  the  little  more,  and  how  much  it  is ! 

And  the  little  less,  and  what  worlds  away 
How  a  sound  shall  quicken  content  to  bliss, 

Or  a  breath  suspend  the  blood's  best  play, 
And  life  be  a  proof  of  this  1 


54  BT   THE   FIRESIDE. 

40. 

Had  she  willed  it,  still  had  stood  the  screen 
So  slight,  so  sure,  'twixt  my  love  and  her. 

I  could  fix  her  face  with  a  guard  between, 
And  find  her  soul  as  when  friends  confer, 

Friends  —  lovers  that  might  have  been. 


41. 

For  my  heart  had  a  touch  of  the  woodland  time, 
Wanting  to  sleep  now  over  its  best. 

Shake  the  whole  tree  in  the  summer-prune, 
But  bring  to  the  last  leaf  no  such  test. 

"  Hold  the  last  fast ! "  says  the  rhyme. 

42. 

For  a  chance  to  make  your  little  much, 

To  gain  a  lover  and  lose  a  friend, 
Venture  the  tree  and  a  myriad  such, 

"When  nothing  you  mar  but  the  year  can  mend  1 
But  a  last  leaf —  fear  to  touch. 


43. 

Yet  should  it  unfasten  itself  and  fall 
Eddying  down  till  it  find  your  face 

At  some  slight  wind  —  (best  chance  of  all !) 
Be  your  heart  henceforth  its  dwelling-place 

You  trembled  to  forestall ! 


BY    THE    FIRESIDE. 
44. 

Worth  how  well,  those  dark  gray  eyes, 
—  That  hair  so  dark  and  dear,  how  worth 

That  a  man  should  strive  and  agonize, 
And  taste  a  very  hell  on  earth 

For  the  hope  of  such  a  prize  ! 


45. 

Oh,  you  might  have  turned  and  tried  a  man, 
Set  him  a  space  to  weary  and  wear, 

And  prove  which  suited  more  your  plan, 
His  best  of  hope  or  his  worst  despair, 

Yet  end  as  he  began. 

46. 

But  you  spared  me  this,  like  the  heart  you  are, 
And  filled  my  empty  heart  at  a  word. 

If  you  join  two  lives,  there  is  oft  a  scar, 

They  are  one  and  one,  with  a  shadowy  third 

One  near  one  is  too  far. 


47. 

A  moment  after,  and  hands  unseen 

Were  hanging  the  night  around  us  fast. 

fcit  we  knew  that  a  bar  was  broken  between 
Life  and  life  ;  we  were  mixed  at  last 

In  spite  of  the  mortal  screen. 


56  BY    THE    FIRESIDE. 

48. 

The  forests  had  done  it ;  there  they  stood  — 
We  caught  for  a  second  the  powers  at  play  : 

They  had  mingled  us  so,  for  once  and  for  good, 
Their  work  was  done  —  we  might  go  or  stay, 

They  relapsed  to  their  ancient  mood. 

49. 

How  the  world  is  made  for  each  of  us  I 
How  all  we  perceive  and  know  hi  it 

Tends  to  some  moment's  product  thus, 
When  a  soul  declares  itself  —  to  wit, 

By  its  fruit  —  the  thing  it  does  ! 

50. 

Be  Hate  that  fruit  or  Love  that  fruit, 
It  forwards  the  General  Deed  of  Han, 

And  each  of  the  Many  helps  to  recruit 
The  life  of  the  race  by  a  general  plan, 

Each  living  his  own,  to  boot. 

51. 

I  am  named  and  known  by  that  hour's  feat. 

There  took  my  station  and  degree. 
So  grew  my  own  small  life  complete 

As  nature  obtained  her  best  of  me  — 
One  born  to  love  you,  sweet ! 


BT  THE   FIRESIDE.  57 

52. 

And  to  watch  you  sink  by  the  fireside  now 

Back  again,  as  you  mutely  sit 
Musing  by  fire-light,  that  great  brow 

And  the  spirit-small  hand  propping  it 
Yonder,  my  heart  knows  how  1 

63. 

So  the  earth  has  gained  by  one  man  more, 

And  the  gain  of  earth  must  be  Heaven's  gain  too 

And  the  whole  is  well  worth  thinking  o'er 

When  the  autumn  comes :  which  I  mean  to  do 

One  day,  as  I  said  before. 


ANY  WIFE  TO  ANY  HUSBAND. 

1. 

MY  love,  this  is  the  bitterest,  that  thou 
Who  art  all  truth  and  who  dost  love  me  now 

As  thine  eyes  say,  as  thy  voice  breaks  to  say  — 
Should'st  love  so  truly  and  could'st  love  me  still 
A  whole  long  life  through,  had  but  love  its  will, 

Would  death  that  leads  me  from  thee  brook  delay  1 


I  have  but  to  be  by  thee,  and  thy  hand 
Would  never  let  mine  go,  thy  heart  withstand 

The  beating  of  my  heart  to  reach  its  place. 
When  should  I  look  for  thee  and  feel  thee  gone  ? 
When  cry  for  the  old  comfort  and  find  none  ? 

Never,  I  know !  Thy  soul  is  in  thy  face. 

8- 

Oh,  I  should  fade  —  'tis  willed  so !  might  I  save, 
Gladly  I  would,  whatever  beauty  gave 


ANT   WIFE    TO    ANT   HUSBAND.  59 

Joy  to  thy  sense,  for  that  was  precious  too. 
ft  is  not  to  be  granted.     But  the  soul 
WTience  the  love  comes,  all  ravage  leaves  that  whole ; 

Vainly  the  flesh  fades  —  soul  makes  all  things  new. 

4. 

And  'twould  not  be  because  my  eye  grew  dun 
Phou  could'st  not  find  the  love  there,  thanks  to  Him 

Who  never  is  dishonoured  in  the  spark 
He  gave  us  from  his  fire  of  fires,  and  bade 
Remember  whence  it  sprang  nor  be  afraid 

While  that  burns  on,  though  all  the  rest  grow  dark. 

5. 

So,  how  thou  would'st  be  perfect,  white  and  clean 
Outside  as  inside,  soul  and  soul's  demesne 

Alike,  this  body  given  to  show  it  by  I 
Oh,  three-parts  through  the  worst  of  life's  abyss, 
What  plaudits  from  the  next  world  after  this, 

Could'st  thou  repeat  a  stroke  and  gain  the  sky  1 

6. 

And  is  it  not  the  bitterer  to  think 

That,  disengage  oui  hands  and  thou  wilt  sink 

Although  thy  love  was  love  in  very  deed  ? 
[  know  that  nature  !     Pass  a  festive  day 
Thou  dost  not  throw  its  relic-flower  away 

Nor  bid  its  music's  loitering  echo  speed. 


60  ANY    WIFE    TO    ANY   HUSBAND. 


Thou  let'st  the  stranger's  glove  lie  where  it  fell ; 
If  old  things  remain  old  things  all  is  well, 

For  thou  art  grateful  as  becomes  man  best : 
A.nd  hadst  thou  only  heard  me  play  one  tune, 
Or  viewed  me  from  a  window,  not  so  soon 

With  thee  would  such  things  fade  as  with  the  rest 

8. 

I  seem  to  see !  we  meet  and  part:  'tis  brief: 
The  book  I  opened  keeps  a  folded  leaf, 

The  very  chair  I  sat  on,  breaks  the  rank  ; 
That  is  a  portrait  of  me  on  the  wall  — 
Three  Ikies,  my  face  comes  at  so  slight  a  call ; 

And  for  all  this,  one  little  hour 's  to  thank. 

9. 

But  now,  because  the  hour  through  years  was  fixed, 
Because  our  inmost  beings  met  and  mixed, 

Because  thou  once  hast  loved  me  — wilt  thou  dare 
Say  to  thy  soul  and  Who  may  list  beside, 
"  Therefore  she  is  immortally  my  bride, 

Chance  cannot  change  that  love,  nor  time  impair. 

10. 

"  So,  what  if  in  the  dusk  of  life  that 's  left, 
I,  a  tired  traveller,  of  my  sun  bereft, 

T  «ok  from  my  path  when,  mimicking  the  same, 


ANY    WIFE   TO    ANT    HUSBAND.  61 

The  fire-fly  glimpses  past  me,  come  and  gone  ? 
—  Where  was  it  till  the  sunset  ?  where  anon 
It  will  be  at  the  sunrise  !  what 's  to  blame  ?  " 

11. 

Is  it  so  helpful  to  thee  ?  canst  thou  take 
The  mimic  up,  nor,  for  the  true  thing's  sake, 

Put  gently  by  such  efforts  at  a  beam  ? 
Is  the  remainder  of  the  way  so  long 
Thou  need'st  the  little  solace,  thou  the  strong  ? 

Watch  out  thy  watch,  let  weak  ones  doze  and  dream 

12. 

"  —  Ah,  but  the  fresher  faces !  Is  it  true," 

Thou  'It  ask,  "  some  eyes  are  beautiful  and  new  ? 

Some  hair, — how  can  one  choose  but  grasp  such  wealth  ? 
And  if  a  man  would  press  his  lips  to  lips 
Fresh  as  the  wilding  hedge-rose  cup  there  slips 

The  dew-drop  out  of,  must  it  be  by  stealth  ? 

13. 

u  It  cannot  change  the  love  kept  still  for  Her, 
Much  more  than,  such  a  picture  to  prefer 

Passing  a  day  with,  to  a  room's  bare  side. 
The  painted  form  takes  nothing  she  possessed, 
Yet  while  the  Titian's  Venus  lies  at  rest 

A  man  looks.    Once  more,  what  is  there  to  chide  ?  * 


62  ANT    WIFE    TO    ANT   HUSBAND. 

14. 

So  must  I  see,  from  where  I  sit  and  watch, 
My  own  self  sell  myself,  my  hand  attach 

Its  warrant  to  the  very  thefts  from  me  — 
Thy  singleness  of  soul  that  made  me  proud, 
Thy  purity  of  heart  I  loved  aloud, 

Thy  man's  truth  I  was  bold  to  bid  God  see  I 

15. 

Love  so,  then,  if  thou  wilt !     Give  all  thou  canst 
Away  to  the  new  faces  —  disentranced  — 

(Say  it  and  think  it)  obdurate  no  more, 
Reissue  looks  and  words  from  the  old  mint  — 
Pass  them  afresh,  no  matter  whose  the  print 

Image  and  superscription  once  they  bore  I 

16. 

Recoin  thyself  and  give  it  them  to  spend,  — 
It  all  comes  to  the  same  thing  at  the  end, 

Since  mine  thou  wast,  mine  art,  and  mine  shalt 
Faithful  or  faithless,  sealing  up  the  sum 
Or  lavish  of  my  treasure,  thou  must  come 

Back  to  the  heart's  place  here  I  keep  for 

17. 

Only,  why  should  it  be  with  stain  at  all  ? 

Why  must  I,  'twixt  the  leaves  of  coronal, 

Put  any  kiss  of  pardon  on  thy  brow  ? 


ANY    WIFE,    TO    ANY    HUSBAND.  63 

WTiy  need  the  other  women  know  so  much 
And  talk  together,  "  Such  the  look  and  such 
The  smile  he  used  to  love  with,  then  as  now !  * 

18- 

Might  I  die  last  and  show  thee !     Should  I  find 
Such  hardship  in  the  few  years  left  behind, 

If  free  to  take  and  light  my  lamp,  and  go 
Into  thy  tomb,  and  shut  the  door  and  sit 
Seeing  thy  face  on  those  four  sides  of  it 

The  better  that  they  are  so  blank,  I  know  1 

19. 

Why,  tune  was  what  I  wanted,  to  turn  o'er 
Within  my  mind  each  look,  get  more  and  more 

By  heart  each  word,  too  much  to  learn  at  first, 
And  join  thee  all  the  fitter  for  the  pause 
'Neath  the  low  door-way's  linteL     That  were  cause 

For  lingering,  though  thou  calledst,  if  I  durst ! 

20. 

And  yet  thou  art  the  nobler  of  us  two. 
What  dare  I  dream  of,  that  thou  canst  not  do, 

Outstripping  my  ten  small  steps  with  one  stri4e  ? 
I  '11  say  then,  here 's  a  trial  and  a  task  — 
Is  it  to  bear  ?  —  if  easy,  I  '11  not  ask  — 

Though  love  fail,  I  can  trust  on  in  thy  pride. 


64  ANY    WIFE   TO    ANT   HUSBAND. 

21. 

Pride  ?  —  when  those  eyes  forestall  the  life  behind 
The  death  I  have  to  go  through !  —  when  I  find, 

Now  that  I  want  thy  help  most,  all  of  thee  ! 
What  did  I  fear  ?  Thy  love  shall  hold  me  fast 
Until  the  little  minute's  sleep  is  past 

And  I  wake  saved.  —  And  yet,  it  will  not  be  I 


AN  EPISTLE 

CONTAINING    THE 

STRANGE  MEDICAL  EXPERIENCE  OF  KARSHISH,  THE 
ARAB  PHYSICIAN. 

KAKSHISII,  the  picker-up  of  learning's  crumbs. 
The  not-incurious  in  God's  handiwork 
(This  man's-flesh  He  hath  admirably  made, 
Blown  like  a  bubble,  kneaded  like  a  paste, 
To  coop  up  and  keep  down  on  earth  a  space 
That  puff  of  vapour  from  His  mouth,  man's  soul) 
—  To  Abib,  all-sagacious  in  our  art, 
Breeder  in  me  of  what  poor  skill  I  boast, 
Like  me  inquisitive  how  pricks  and  cracks 
Befall  the  flesh  through  too  much  stress  and  strain, 
Whereby  the  wily  vapour  fain  would  slip 
Back  and  rejoin  its  source  before  the  term, — 
And  aptest  in  contrivance,  under  God, 
To  baffle  it  by  deftly  stopping  such :  — 
The  vagrant  Scholar  to  his  Sage  at  home 
Sends  greeting  (health  and  knowledge,  fame  with  peace) 
Three  samples  of  true  snake-stone  —  rarer  still, 
One  of  the  other  sort,  the  melon-shaped, 
(But  fitter,  pounded  fine,  for  charms  than  drugs) 
And  writeth  now  the  twenty-second  time. 
5 


66  AN   EPISTLE. 

My  journeyings  were  brought  to  Jericho, 
Thus  I  resume.     Who  studious  in  our  art 
Shall  count  a  little  labour  unrepaid  ? 
I  have  shed  sweat  enough,  left  flesh  and  bone 
On  many  a  flinty  furlong  of  this  land. 
Also  the  country-side  is  all  on  fire 
With  rumours  of  a  marching  hitherward  — 
Some  say  Vespasian  cometh,  some,  his  son. 
A  black  lynx  snarled  and  pricked  a  tufted  ear ; 
Lust  of  my  blood  inflatned  his  yellow  balls : 
I  cried  and  threw  my  staff  and  he  was  gone. 
Twice  have  the  robbers  stripped  and  beaten  mo, 
And  once  a  town  declared  me  for  a  spy, 
But  at  the  end,  I  reach  Jerusalem, 
Since  this  poor  covert  where  I  pass  the  night, 
This  Bethany,  lies  scarce  the  distance  thence 
A  man  with  plague-sores  at  the  third  degree 
Runs  till  he  drops  down  dead.     Thou  laughest  here ! 
'Sooth,  it  elates  me,  thus  reposed  and  safe, 
To  void  the  stuffing  of  ray  travel-scrip 
And  share  with  thee  whatever  Jewry  yields. 
A  viscid  choler  is  observable 
In  tertians,  I  was  nearly  bold  to  say, 
And  falling-sickness  hath  a  happier  cure 
Than  our  school  wots  of:  there 's  a  spider  here 
Weaves  no  web,  watches  on  the  ledge  of  tombs, 
Sprinkled  with  mottles  on  an  ash-gray  back ; 
Take  five  and  drop  them  .  .  .  but  who  knows  his  mind, 
The  Syrian  run-a-gate  I  trust  this  to  ? 


AN    EPISTLE. 

His  service  payeth  me  a  sublimate 
Blown  up  his  nose  to  help  the  ailing  eye. 
Best  wait :  I  reach  Jerusalem  at  morn, 
There  set  in  order  my  experiences, 
Gather  what  most  deserves  and  give  thee  all  — 
Or  I  might  add,  Judea's  gum-tragacanth 
Scales  off  in  purer  flakes,  shines  clearer-grained, 
Cracks  'twixt  the  pestle  and  the  porphyry, 
In  fine  exceeds  our  produce.     Scalp-disease 
Confounds  me,  crossing  so  with  leprosy  — 
Thou  hadst  admired  one  sort  I  gained  at  Zoar  — 
But  zeal  outruns  discretion.     Here  I  end. 

Yet  stay :  my  Syrian  blinketh  gratefully, 
Protesteth  his  devotion  is  my  price  — 
Suppose  I  write  what  harms  not,  though  he  steal  ? 
I  half  resolve  to  tell  thee,  yet  I  blush, 
What  set  me  off  a-writing  first  of  all. 
An  itch  I  had,  a  sting  to  write,  a  tang  ! 
For,  be  it  this  town's  barrenness  —  or  else 
The  Man  had  something  hi  the  look  of  him  — 
His  case  has  struck  me  far  more  than  'tis  worth. 
So,  pardon  if —  (lest  presently  I  lose 
In  the  great  press  of  novelty  at  hand 
The  care  and  pains  this  somehow  stole  from  me) 
I  bid  thee  take  the  thing  while  fresh  in  mind, 
Almost  in  sight  —  for,  wilt  thou  have  the  truth  ? 
The  very  man  is  gone  from  me  but  now, 
.Whose  ailment  is  the  subject  of  discourse. 
Thus  then,  and  let  thy  better  wit  help  all. 


'Tis  but  a  cass  of  mania  —  suhinduced 
By  epilepsy,  at  the  turning-point 
Of  trance  prolonged  unduly  some  three  days, 
When  by  the  exhibition  of  some  drug 
Or  spell,  exorcisation,  stroke  of  art 
Unknown  to  me  and  which  'twere  well  to  know, 
The  evil  thing  out-breaking  all  at  once 
Left  the  man  whole  and  sound  of  body  indeed,— 
But,  flinging,  so  to  speak,  life's  gates  too  wide, 
Making  a  clear  house  of  it  too  suddenly, 
Ihe  first  conceit  that  entered  pleased  to  write 
Whatever  it  was  minded  on  the  wall 
So  plainly  at  that  vantage,  as  it  were, 
(First  come,  first  served)  that  nothing  subsequent 
Mtaineth  to  erase  the  fancy-scrawls 
Wliich  the  returned  and  new-established  soul 
Hath  gotten  now  so  thoroughly  by  heart 
That  henceforth  she  will  read  or  these  or  none. 
And  first  —  the  man's  own  firm  conviction  rests 
That  he  was  dead  (in  fact  they  buried  him) 
That  he  was  dead  and  then  restored  to  life 
By  a  Nazarene  physician  of  his  tribe  : 
—  'Sayeth,  the  same  bade  "  Rise,"  and  he  did  risft 
w  Such  cases  are  diurnal,"  thou  wilt  cry. 
Not  so  this  figment !  —  not,  that  such  a  ?ume, 
Instead  of  giving  way  to  tune  and  health, 
Should  eat  itself  into  the  life  of  life, 
4s  saffron  tingeth  flesh,  blood,  bones  and  all  1 
For  see,  how  he  takes  up  the  after-life. 
IThe  man  —  it  is  one  Lazarus  a  Jew, 


AN   EPISTLE.  6 

Sanguine,  proportioned,  fifty  years  of  age, 
The  body's  habit  wholly  laudable, 
As  much,  indeed,  beyond  the  common  health 
As  he  were  made  and  put  aside  to  show. 
Think,  could  we  penetrate  by  any  drug 
And  bathe  the  wearied  soul  and  worried  flesh, 
And  bring  it  clear  and  fair,  by  three  days  sleep  ! 
Whence  has  the  man  the  balm  that  brightens  all  ? 
This  grown  man  eyes  the  world  now  like  a  child. 
Some  elders  of  his  tribe,  I  should  premise, 
Led  in  their  friend,  obedient  as  a  sheep, 
To  bear  my  inquisition.     While  they  spoke, 
Now  sharply,  now  with  sorrow,  —  told  the  case,  — 
He  listened  not  except  I  spoke  to  him, 
But  folded  his  two  hands  and  let  them  talk, 
Watching  the  flies  that  buzzed  :  and  yet  no  fooL 
And  that 's  a  sample  how  his  years  must  go. 
Look  if  a  beggar,  in  fixed  middle-life, 
Should  find  a  treasure,  can  he  use  the  same 
With  straightened  habits  and  with  tastes  starved  small, 
And  take  at  once  to  his  impoverished  brain 
The  sudden  element  that  changes  things, 
-  That  sets  the  undreamed-of  rapture  at  his  hand, 
And  puts  the  cheap  old  joy  in  the  scorned  dust  ? 
Is  he  not  such  an  one  as  moves  to  mirth  — 
Warily  parsimonious,  when 's  no  need, 
Wasteful  as  drunkenness  at  undue  tunes  ? 
All  prudent  counsel  as  to  what  befits 
Hie  golden  mean,  is  lost  on  such  an  one. 


ro 


AN    EPISTLE. 


The  man's  fantastic  will  is  the  man's  law. 

So  here  —  we  '11  call  the  treasure  knowledge,  say  — 

Increased  beyond  the  fleshly  faculty  — 

Heaven  opened  to  a  soul  while  yet  on  earth, 

Earth  forced  on  a  soul's  use  while  seeing  Heaven. 

The  man  is  witless  of  the  size,  the  sum, 

The  value  in  proportion  of  all  things, 

Or  whether  it  be  little  or  be  much. 

Discourse  to  him  of  prodigious  armaments 

Assembled  to  besiege  his  city  now, 

And  of  the  passing  of  a  mule  with  gourds  — 

Tis  one  !     Then  take  it  on  the  other  side, 

Speak  of  some  trifling  fact  —  he  will  gaze  rapt 

With  stupor  at  its  very  littleness  — 

(Far  as  I  see)  as  if  in  that  indeed 

He  caught  prodigious  import,  whole  results  ; 

And  so  will  turn  to  us  the  bystanders 

In  ever  the  same  stupor  (note  'this  point) 

That  we  too  see  not  with  his  opened  eyes  ! 

Wonder  and  doubt  come  wrongly  into  play, 

Preposterously,  at  cross  purposes. 

Should  his  child  sicken  unto  death,  —  why,  look 

For  scarce  abatement  of  his  cheerfulness, 

Or  pretermission  of  his  daily  craft  — 

While  a  word,  gesture,  glance,  from  that  same  child 

A-t  play  or  in  the  school  or  laid  asleep, 

Will  start  him  to  an  agony  of  fear, 

Exasperation,  just  as  like  !  demand 

The  reason  whv  —  "  'tis  but  a  word,"  obiect  — 


AN    EPISTLE  71 

A  gesture  "  <—  he  regards  thee  as  our  lord 
Who  lived  there  in  the  pyramid  alone, 
Looked  at  us,  dost  thou  mind,  when  being  young 
We  both  would  unadvisedly  recite 
Some  charm's  beginning,  from  that  book  of  his, 
Able  to  bid  the  sun  throb  wide  and  burst 
All  into  stars,  as  suns  grown  old  are  wont. 
Thou  and  the  child  have  each  a  veil  alike 
Thrown  o'er  your  heads  from  under  which  ye  both 
Stretch  your  blind  hands  and  trifle  with  a  match 
Over  a  mine  of  Greek  fire,  did  ye  know  ! 
He  holds  on  firmly  to  some  thread  of  life  — 
(It  is  the  life  to  lead  perforcedly) 
Which  runs  across  some  vast  distracting  orb 
Of  glory  on  either  side  that  meagre  thread, 
Which,  conscious  of,  he  must  not  enter  yet  — 
The  spiritual  life  around  the  earthly  life  ! 
The  law  of  that  is  known  to  him  as  this  — 
His  heart  and  brain  move  there,  his  feet  stay  here. 
So  is  the  man  perplext  with  impulses 
Sudden  to  start  off  crosswise,  not  straight  on, 
Proclaiming  what  is  Right  and  Wrong  across  — 
<Vnd  not  along  —  this  black  thread  through  the  blaze  — • 
M  It  should  be  "  balked  by  "  here  it  cannot  be." 
And  oft  the  man's  soul  springs  into  his  face 
As  if  he  saw  again  and  heard  again 
His  sage  that  bade  him  "  Rise  "  and  he  did  rise. 
Something  —  a  word,  a  tick  of  the  blood  within 
Admonishes  —  then  back  he  sinks  at  once 


72  AN    EPISTLE. 

To  ashes,  that  was  very  fire  before, 

In  sedulous  recurrence  to  his  trade 

Whereby  he  earneth  him  the  daily  bread  — 

And  studiously  the  humbler  for  that  pride, 

Professedly  the  faultier  that  he  knows 

God's  secret,  while  he  holds  the  thread  of  life. 

Indeed  the  especial  marking  of  the  man 

Is  prone  submission  to  the  Heavenly  will  — 

Seeing  it,  what  it  is,  and  why  it  is. 

'Sayeth,  he  will  wait  patient  to  the  last 

For  that  same  death  which  will  restore  his  being 

To  equilibrium,  body,  loosening  soul 

Divorced  even  now  by  premature  full  growth : 

He  will  live,  nay,  it  pleaseth  him  to  live 

So  long  as  God  please,  and  just  how  God  please. 

He  even  seeketh  not  to  please  God  more 

(Which  meaneth,  otherwise)  than  as  God  please. 

Hence  T  perceive  not  he  affects  to  preach 

The  doctrine  of  his  sect  whate'er  it  be  — 

Make  proselytes  as  madmen  thirst  to  do. 

How  can  he  give  his  neighbour  the  real  ground, 

His  own  conviction  ?  ardent  as  he  is  — 

Call  his  great  truth  a  lie,  why  still  the  old 

"  Be  it  as  God  please  "  reassureth  him. 

I  probed  the  sore  as  thy  disciple  should  — 

*  How,  beast,"  said  I,  "  this  stolid  carelessness 

Sufficeth  thee,  when  Rome  is  on  her  march 

To  stamp  out  like  a  little  spark  thy  town, 

Thy  tribe,  thy  crazy  tale  and  thee  at  once  ?  " 

He  merely  looked  with  his  large  eyes  on  me. 


AN    EPISTLE. 

fhe  man  is  apathetic,  you  deduce  ? 

Contrariwise  he  loves  both  old  and  young, 

Able  and  weak  —  affects  the  very  brutes 

And  birds  —  how  say  I  ?  flowers  of  the  field  — 

As  a  wise  workman  recognizes  tools 

In  a  master's  workshop,  loving  what  they  make. 

Thus  is  the  man  as  harmless  as  a  lamb  : 

Only  impatient,  let  him  do  his  best, 

At  ignorance  and  carelessness  and  sin  — 

An  indignation  which  is  promptly  curbed. 

As  when  in  certain  travels  I  have  feigned 

To  be  an  ignoramus  in  our  art 

According  to  some  preconceived  design, 

And  happed  to  hear  the  land's  practitioners 

Steeped  in  conceit  sublimed  by  ignorance, 

Prattle  fantastically  on  disease, 

Tts  cause  and  cure  —  and  I  must  hold  my  peace  I 

Thou  wilt  object  —  why  have  I  not  ere  this 
Sought  out  the  sage  himself,  the  Nazarene 
Who  wrought  this  cure,  inquiring  at  the  source. 
Conferring  with  the  frankness  that  befits  ? 
4Jas  !  it  grieveth  me,  the  learned  leech 
Perished  in  a  tumult  many  years  ago, 
Accused,  —  our  learning's  fate,  —  of  wizardry, 
Rebellion,  to  the  setting  up  a  rule 
And  creed  prodigious  as  described  to  me. 
His  death  which  happened  when  the  earthquake  fell 
'Prefiguring,  as  soon  appeared,  the  loss 
To  occult  learning  hi  our  lord  the  sage 


74  A.N    EPISTLE. 

That  lived  there  in  the  pyramid  alone) 

Was  wrought  by  the  mad  people  —  that '?  theii  wont  — 

On  vain  recourse,  as  I  conjecture  it, 

To  his  tried  virtue,  for  miraculous  help  — 

How  could  he  stop  the  earthquake  ?     That 's  their  way  I 

The  other  imputations  must  be  lies  : 

But  take  one  —  though  I  loathe  to  give  it  thee, 

In  mere  respect  to  any  good  man's  fame  ! 

(And  after  all  our  patient  Lazarus 

Is  stark  mad  —  should  we  count  on  what  he  says  ? 

Perhaps  not  —  though  in  writing  to  a  leech 

'Tis  well  to  keep  back  nothing  of  a  case.) 

This  man  so  cured  regards  the  curer  then, 

As  —  God  forgive  me  —  who  but  God  himself, 

Creator  and  Sustainer  of  the  world, 

That  came  and  dwelt  in  flesh  on  it  awhile  ! 

—  'Sayeth  that  such  an  One  was  born  and  lived, 

Taught,  healed  the  sick,  broke  bread  at  his  own  house 

Then  died,  with  Lazarus  by,  for  aught  I  know, 

And  yet  was  .  .  .  what  I  said  nor  choose  repeat, 

And  must  have  so  avouched  himself,  hi  fact, 

In  hearing  of  this  very  Lazarus 

Who  saith  —  but  why  all  this  of  what  he  saith  t 

Why  write  of  trivial  matters,  things  of  price 

Calling  at  every  moment  for  remark  ? 

I  noticed  on  the  margin  of  a  pool 

Blue-flowering  borage,  the  Aleppo  sort, 

Aboundeth,  very  nitrous.     It  is  strange  ! 

Thy  pardon  for  this  long  and  tedious  case, 


AN   EPISTLE.  70 

Which,  now  that  I  review  it,  needs  must  seem 

Unduly  dwelt  on,  prolixly  set  forth. 

Nor  I  myself  discern  in  what  is  writ 

Good  cause  for  the  peculiar  interest 

And  awe  indeed  this  man  has  touched  me  with. 

Perhaps  the  journey's  end,  the  weariness 

Had  wrought  upon  me  first.     I  met  him  thus  — 

I  crossed  a  ridge  of  short  sharp  broken  hills 

Like  an  old  lion's  cheek-teeth.     Out  there  came 

A  moon  made  like  a  face  with  certain  spots 

Multiform,  manifold,  and  menacing : 

Then  a  wind  rose  behind  me.     So  we  met 

In  this  old  sleepy  town  at  unaware, 

The  man  and  I.     I  send  thee  what  is  writ. 

Regard  it  as  a  chance,  a  matter  risked 

To  this  ambiguous  Syrian  —  he  may  lose, 

Or  steal,  or  give  it  thee  with  equal  good. 

Jerusalem's  repose  shall  make  amends 

For  tune  this  letter  wastes,  thy  tune  and  mine, 

Till  when,  once  more  thy  pardon  and  farewell  I 

The  very  God  !  think,  Abib ;  dost  thou  think  ? 
So,  the  All-Great,  were  the  All-Loving  too  — 
So,  through  the  thunder  comes  a  human  voice 
Saying,  "  O  heart  I  made,  a  heart  beats  here  I 
Face,  my  hands  fashioned,  see  it  in  myself. 
Thou  hast  no  power  nor  may'st  conceive  of  mine, 
But  love  I  gave  thee,  with  Myself  to  love, 
And  thou  must  love  me  who  have  died  for  thee  1  " 
The  madman  saith  He  said  so  :  it  is  strange. 


MESMERISM. 

l. 

ALL  I  believed  is  true ! 

I  am  able  yet 

All  I  want  to  get 
By  a  method  as  "strange  as  new  t 
Dare  I  trust  the  same  to  you  ? 


If  at  night,  when  doors  are  shut. 
And  the  wood-worm  picks, 
And  the  death-watch  ticks, 
And  the  bar  has  a  flag  of  smut, 
And  a  cat 's  in  the  water-butt— 

3. 

And  the  socket  floats  and  flares, 
And  the  house-beams  groan, 
And  a  foot  unknown 


MESMERISM.  77 

Is  surmised  on  the  garret-stairs, 
And  the  locks  slip  unawares  — 

4. 

And  the  spider,  to  serve  his  ends, 

By  a  sudden  thread, 

Arms  and  legs  outspread, 
On  the  table's  midst  descends, 
Comes  to  find,  God  knows  what  friends  1  — • 

5. 

If  since  eve  drew  in,  I  say, 

I  have  sate  and  brought 

(So  to  speak)  my  thought 
To  bear  on  the  woman  away, 
Till  I  felt  my  hair  turn  gray  — 

6. 

Till  I  seemed  to  have  and  hold 

In  the  vacancy 

'Twixt  the  wall  and  me, 
From  the  hair-plait's  chestnut-gold 
To  the  foot  hi  its  muslin  fold  — 

i 
7. 

Have  and  hold,  then  and  there, 
Her,  from  head  to  foot, 
Breathing  and  mute, 


78  MESMERISM. 

Passive  and  yet  aware, 

In  the  grasp  of  my  steady  stare  — 

8. 

Hold  and  have,  there  and  then, 
All  her  body  and  soul 
That  completes  my  Whole, 
All  that  women  add  to  men, 
In  the  clutch  of  my  steady  ken  — 

9. 

Having  and  holding,  till 

I  imprint  her  fast 

On  the  void  at  last 
As  the  sun  does  whom  he  will 
By  the  calotypist's  skill  — 

10. 

Then,  —  if  my  heart's  strength  serve, 
And  through  all  and  each 
Of  the  veils  I  reach 
To  her  soul  and  never  swerve, 
Knitting  an  iron  nerve  — 

11. 

Commanding  that  to  advance 
And  inform  the  shape 
"WTiich  has  made  escape 


MESMERISM.  79 


And  before  my  countenance 
Answers  me  glance  for  glance  — 

12. 

I,  still  with  a  gesture  fit 
Of  my  hands  that  best 
Do  my  soul's  behest, 
Pointing  the  power  from  it, 
While  myself  do  steadfast  sit  — 


13. 

Steadfast  and  still  the  same 

On  my  object  bent 

While  the  hands  give  vent 
To  my  ardour  and  my  aim 
And  break  into  very  flame  — 

U. 

Then,  I  reach,  I  must  believe, 
Not  her  soul  in  vain, 
For  to  me  again 
It  reaches,  and  past  retrieve 
Is  wound  hi  the  toils  I  weave  — 

15- 

And  must  follow  as  I  require, 
As  befits  a  thrall, 
Bringing  flesh  and  all, 


80  MESMERISM. 

Essence  and  earth-attire, 

To  the  source  of  the  tractile  fire  — 

16. 

Till  the  house  called  hers,  not  mine, 
With  a  growing  weight 
Seems  to  suffocate 
If  she  break  not  its  leaden  line 
And  escape  from  its  close  confine  — 

17. 

Out  of  doors  into  the  night  I 
On  to  the  maze 
Of  the  wild  wood-ways, 
Not  turning  to  left  or  right 
From  the  pathway,  blind  with  sight « 

18. 

Making  thro'  rain  and  wind 
O'er  the  broken  shrubs, 
'Twixt  the  stems  and  stubs, 
With  a  still  composed  strong  mind, 
Not  a  care  for  the  world  behind  — 

19. 

Swifter  and  still  more  swift, 
As  the  crowding  peace 
Doth  to  joy  increase 
In  the  wide  blind  eyes  uplift, 
Thro'  the  darkness  and  the  drift ! 


MESMERISM.  81 

20. 

While  I — to  the  shape,  I  too 

Feel  my  soul  dilate 

Nor  a  whit  abate 
And  relax  not  a  gesture  due 
As  I  see  my  belief  come  true  — 

21. 

For  there  !  have  I  drawn  or  no 

Life  to  that  lip  ? 

Do  my  fingers  dip 
In  a  flame  which  again  they  throw 
On  the  cheek  that  breaks  a-glow  ? 

22. 

Ha  1  was  the  hair  so  first  ? 
What,  unfilleted, 
Made  alive,  and  spread 
Through  the  void  with  a  rich  outburst 
Chestnut  gold-interspersed ! 

23. 

Like  the  doors  of  a  casket-shrine, 

See,  on  either  side, 

Her  two  arms  divide 
Till  the  heart  betwixt  makes  sign, 
Take  me,  for  I  am  thine  I 
6 


MESMERISM. 
24. 

Now  —  now  —  the  door  is  heard 
Hark !  the  stairs  and  near  — • 
Nearer  —  and  here  — 
Now  !  and  at  call  the  third 
She  enters  without  a  word. 

25. 

On  doth  she  inarch  and  on 
To  the  fancied  shape  — 
It  is  past  escape 

Herself,  now  —  the  dream  is  done 
And  the  shadow  and  she  are  one. 


First  I  will  pray.     Do  Thou 
That  ownest  the  soul, 
Yet  wilt  grant  controul 
To  another  nor  disallow 
For  a  tune,  restrain  me  now  I 

27. 

I  admonish  me  while  I  may, 
Not  to  squander  guilt, 
Since  require  Thou  wilt 

At  my  hand  its  price  one  day ! 

What  the  price  is,  who  can  say  ? 


A   SERENADE   AT   THE    VILLA. 

1. 

THAT  was  I,  you  heard  last  night 
When  there  rose  no  moon  at  all, 

Nor,  to  pierce  the  strained  and  tight 
Tent  of  heaven,  a  planet  small : 

Life  was  dead,  and  so  was  light. 


Not  a  twinkle  from  the  fly, 

Not  a  glimmer  from  the  worm. 

When  the  crickets  stopped  their  cry, 
When  the  owls  forbore  a  term, 

You  heard  music ;  that  was  L 


3. 

Earth  turned  in  her  sleep  with  pain, 

Sultrily  suspired  for  proof: 
In  at  heaven  and  out  again, 

Lightning '  —  where  it  broke  the  roofi 
Bloodlike,  some  few  drops  of  rain. 


84  A    SERENADE    AT    THE    VILLA. 

4. 

What  they  could  my  words  expressed, 
O  my  love,  my  all,  my  one  ! 

Singing  helped  the  verses  best, 

And  when  singing's  best  was  done, 

To  mv  lute  I  left  the  rest. 


5. 

So  wore  night ;  the  east  was  gray, 

White  the  broad-faced  hemlock  flowers ; 

Soon  would  come  another  day  ; 
Ere  its  first  of  heavy  hours 

Found  me,  I  had  past  away. 

6. 

What  became  of  all  the  hopes, 
Words  and  song  and  lute  as  well  ? 

Say,  this  struck  you  —  "  When  life  gropes 
Feebly  for  the  path  where  fell 

Light  last  on  the  evening  slopes, 


u  One  friend  in  that  path  shall  be 
To  secure  my  steps  from  wrong  ; 

One  to  count  night  day  for  me, 
Patient  through  the  watches  long, 

Serving  most  with  none  to  see." 


A    SERENADE    AT    THE    VILLA.  85 

.    8. 

Never  say  —  as  something  bodes  — 

"  So  the  worst  has  yet  a  worse ! 
When  life  halts  'neath  double  loads, 

Better  the  task-master's  curse 
Than  such  music  on  the  roads  1 


"  When  no  moon  succeeds  the  sun, 
Nor  can  pierce  the  midnight's  tent 

Any  star,  the  smallest  one, 

While  some  drops,  where  lightning  went, 

Show  the  final  storm  begun  — 

10. 

*  When  the  fire-fly  hides  its  spot, 

When  the  garden-voices  fail 
In  the  darkness  thick  and  hot, — 

Shall  another  voice  avail, 
That  shape  be  where  those  are  not? 

tl. 

•*  Has  some  plague  a  longer  lease 

Proffering  its  help  uncouth  ? 
Can't  one  even  die  in  peace  ? 

As  one  shuts  one's  eyes  on  youth, 
Is  that  face  the  last  one  sees  ?  " 


A    SERENADE    AT    THE    VILLA. 
12. 

Oh,  how  dark  your  villa  was, 
Windows  fast  and  obdurate  ! 

How. the  garden  grudged  me  grasa 
Where  I  stood  —  the  iron  gate 

Ground  its  teeth  to  let  me  pass ! 


MY  STAB. 

ALL  that  I  know 

Of  a  certain  star, 
Is,  it  can  throw 

(Like  the  angled  spar) 
Now  a  dart  of  red, 

Now  a  dart  of  blue, 
Till  my  friends  have  said 

They  would  fain  see,  too, 
My  star  that  dartles  the  red  and  the  blue ! 
Then  it  stops  like  a  bird,  —  like  a  flower,  han^s  furled ; 

They  must  solace  themselves  with  the  Saturn  above  it 
What  matter  to  me  if  their  star  is  a  world  ? 
Mine  has  opened  its  soul  to  me ;  therefore  I  love  »u 


INSTANS  TYRANNUS. 


OF  the  million  or  two,  more  or  less, 
I  rule  and  possess, 
One  man,  for  some  cause  undefined, 
Was  least  to  my  mind. 

2. 

I  struck  him,  he  grovelled  of  course  — 

For,  wliat  was  his  force  ? 

I  pinned  him  to  earth  with  my  weight 

And  persistence  of  hate  — 

And  he  lay,  would  not  moan,  would  not  curse, 

As  if  lots  might  be  worse. 


u  Were  the  object  less  mean,  would  he  stand 

At  the  swing  of  my  hand  ! 

For  obscurity  helps  him  and  blots 

The  hole  where  he  squats." 

So  I  set  my  five  wits  on  the  stretch 

To  inveigle  the  wretch. 


IN8TANS    THY  ANN  US.  89 

All  in  vain !  gold  and  jewels  I  threw, 

Still  he  couched  there  perdue. 

I  tempted  his  blood  and  his  flesh, 

Hid  in  roses  my  mesh, 

Choicest  cates  and  the  flagon's  best  spilth— 

Still  he  kept  to  his  filth  ! 

4. 

Had  he  kith  now  or  kin,  were  access 

To  his  heart,  If  I  press  — 

Just  a  son  or  a  mother  to  seize  — 

No  such  booty  as  these  ! 

Were  it  simply  a  friend  to  pursue 

'Mid  my  million  or  two, 

Who  could  pay  me  in  person  or  pelf 

What  he  owes  me  himself. 

No !  I  could  not  but  smile  through  m  j  chafe  — 

For  the  fellow  lay  safe 

As  his  mates  do,  the  midge  and  the  nit, 

— Through  minuteness,  to  wit. 

5. 

Then  a  humor  more  great  took  its  place 

At  the  thought  of  his  face, 

The  droop,  the  low  cares  of  the  mouth, 

The  trouble  uncouth 

'Twixt  the  brows,  all  that  air  one  i?  fain 

To  put  out  of  its  pain  — 

And,  no,  I  admonished  myself, 


10  1NSTANS    TYRANNUS. 

u  Is  one  mocked  by  an  elf, 

Is  one  baffled  by  toad  or  by  rat  ? 

The  gravamen 's  in  that ! 

How  the  lion,  who  crouches  to  suit 

His  back  to  my  foot, 

Would  admire  that  I  stand  hi  debate  I 

But  the  Small  is  the  Great 

If  it  vexes  you,  —  that  is  the  thing  I 

Toad  or  rat  vex  the  King  ? 

Though  I  waste  half  my  realm  to  unearth 

Toad  or  rat,  'tis  well  worth ! " 

6. 

So  I  soberly  laid  my  last  plan 

To  extinguish  the  man. 

Round  his  creep-hole,  —  with  never  a  break 

Ran  my  fires  for  his  sake  ; 

Over-head,  did  my  thunders  combine 

With  my  under-ground  mine : 

Till  I  looked  from  my  labor  content 

To  enjoy  the  event. 


When  sudden  .  .  .  how  think  ye,  the  end  ? 

Did  I  say  "  without  friend  ?  " 

Say  rather,  from  marge  to  blue  marge 

The  whole  sky  grew  his  targe 

With  the  sun's  self  for  visible  boss, 

While  an  Arm  ran  across 


INSTAN8    TYRANNC8.  91 

Which  the  earth  heaved  beneath  like  a  breast 

Where  the  wretch  was  safe  prest  1 

Do  you  see  ?  just  my  vengeance  complete, 

The  man  sprang  to  his  feet, 

Stood  erect,  caught  at  GO<*'<J  skirts,  and  prayed  I 

—  So,  /  wa»  afraid  ! 


A  PRETTY   WOMAN. 

I. 

THAT  fawn-skin-dappled  hair  of  hers, 

And  the  blue  eye 

Dear  and  dewy, 
And  that  infantine  fresh  air  of  hers  ! 

2. 

To  think  men  cannot  take  you,  Sweet, 

And  enfold  you, 

Ay,  and  hold  you, 
And  so  keep  you  what  they  make  you,  Sweet  1 

S. 

You  like  us  for  a  glance,  you  know  — 

For  a  word's  sake, 

Or  a  sword's  sake, 
All 's  the  same,  whate'er  the  chance,  you  know. 


A   PRETTY    WOMAN.  98 

4. 

And  in  turn  we  make  you  ours,  we  say  — 

You  and  youth  too, 

Eyes  and  mouth  too, 
All  the  face  composed  of  flowers,  we  say. 

5. 

All's  our  own,  to  make  the  most  of,  Sweet  — 

Sing  and  say  for, 

Watch  and  pray  for, 
Keep  a  secret  or  go  boast  of,  Sweet. 

6. 

But  for  loving,  why,  you  would  not,  Sweet, 

Though  we  prayed  you, 

Paid  you,  brayed  you 
In  a  mortar  —  for  you  could  not,  Sweet. 


So,  we  leave  the  sweet  face  fondly  there  — 

Be  its  beauty 

Its  sole  duty ! 
Let  all  hope  of  grace  beyond,  lie  there  I 


And  while  the  face  lies  quiet  there, 

Who  shall  wonder 

That  I  ponder 
A  conclusion  ?     I  will  try  it  there. 


04  A   PRETTY    WOMAN. 

9. 

As,  —  why  must  one,  for  the  love  forgone, 

Scout  mere  liking  ? 

Thunder-striking 
Earth,  —  the  heaven,  we  look  above  for,  gone ! 

10. 

Why  with  beauty,  needs  there  money  be  — 

Love  with  liking  ? 

Crush  the  fly-king 
In  his  gauze,  because  no  honey  bee  ? 

11. 

May  not  liking  be  so  simple-sweet, 

If  love  grew  there 

Twould  undo  there 
All  that  breaks  the  cheek  to  dimples  sweet  ? 

12. 

Is  the  creature  too  imperfect,  say  ? 

"Would  you  mend  it 

And  so  end  it  ? 
Since  not  all  addition  perfects  aye ! 

13. 

Or  is  it  of  its  kind,  perhaps, 

Just  perfection  — 

Whence,  rejection 
Of  a  grace  not  to  its  mind,  perhaps? 


A   PBETTY    WOMAN.  05 

14. 

Shall  we  burn  up,  tread  that  face  at  once 

Into  tinder, 

And  so  hinder 
Sparks  from  kindling  all  the  place  at  once  ? 

15. 

Or  else  kiss  away  one's  soul  on  her  ? 

Your  love-fancies !  — 

A  sick  man  sees 
Truer,  when  his  hot  eyes  roll  on  her  1 

16. 

Thus  the  craftsman  thinks  to  grace  the  rose,  — 

Plucks  a  mould-flower 

For  his  gold  flower, 
Uses  fine  things  that  efface  the  rose. 

17. 

Rosy  rubies  make  its  cup  more  rose, 

Precious  metals 

Ape  the  petals,  — 
Last,  some  old  king  locks  it  up,  morose  1 

18. 
Then,  how  grace  a  rose  ?  I  know  a  way  ! 

Leave  it  rather. 

Must  you  gather  ? 
Smell,  kiss,  wear  it  —  at  last,  throw  away ! 


«  CHILDE  ROLAND  TO  THE  DARK  TO  WEB 
CAME." 

(See  Edgar's  Song  in  ''  LEAK.") 

1. 

MY  first  thought  was,  he  lied  in  every  word, 
That  hoary  cripple,  with  malicious  eye 
Askance  to  watch  the  working  of  his  lie 
On  mine,  and  mouth  scarce  able  to  afford 
Suppression  of  the  glee  that  pursed  and  scored 
Its  edge  at  one  more  victim  gained  thereby. 

2. 

What  else  should  he  be  set  for,  with  his  staff? 
What,  save  to  waylay  with  his  lies,  ensnare 
All  travellers  that  might  find  him  posted  there, 
And  ask  the  road  ?     I  guessed  what  skull-like  laugh 
Would  break,  what  crutch  '  gin  write  my  epitaph 
For  pastime  in  the  dusty  thoroughfare, 

3. 

If  at  his  counsel  I  should  turn  aside 

Into  that  ominous  tract  which,  all  agree, 


"CHILDK    ROLAND    TO    THE    DARK    TOWER    OAME."    97 

Hides  the  Dark  Tower.     Yet  acquieseingly 
[  did  turn  as  he  pointed  ;  neither  pride 
Nor  hope  rekindling  at  the  end  descried, 

So  much  as  gladness  that  some  end  should  be. 

4. 

For,  what  with  my  whole  world-wide  wandering, 
What  with  my  search  drawn  out  thro'  years,  my  hope 
Dwindled  into  a  ghost  not  fit  to  cope 

With  that  obstreperous  joy  success  would  bring,  — 

I  hardly  tried  now  to  rebuke  the  spring 
My  heart  made,  finding  failure  in  its  scope. 

5. 

As  when  a  sick  man  very  near  to  death 

Seems  dead  indeed,  and  feels  begin  and  end 
The  tears  and  takes  the  farewell  of  each  friend, 
And  hears  one  bid  the  other  go,  draw  breath 
Freelier  outside,  ("  since  all  is  o'er  "  he  saith, 
"  And  the  blow  fall'n  no  grieving  can  amend  ") 

6. 

W  bile  some  discuss  if  near  the  other  graves 
Be  room  enough  for  this,  and  when  a  day 
Suits  best  for  carrying  the  corpse  away, 
With  care  about  the  banners,  scarves  and  staves,  — 
And  still  the  man  hears  all,  and  only  craves 
He  may  not  shame  such  tender  love  and  stay. 
7 


98  "  CHILDE    ROLAND 

7. 

Thus,  I  had  so  long  suffered  in  this  quest, 
Heard  failure  prophesied  so  oft,  been  writ 
So  many  times  among  "  The  Band  "  —  to  wit, 
The  knights  who  to  the  Dark  Tower's  search  addressed 
Their  steps  —  that  just  to  fail  as  they,  seemed  best, 
And  all  the  doubt  was  now  —  should  I  be  fit. 

8. 

So,  quiet  as  despair,  I  turned  from  him, 
That  hateful  cripple,  out  of  his  highway 
Into  the  path  he  pointed.     All  the  day 
Had  been  a  dreary  one  at  best,  and  dun 
Was  settling  to  its  close,  yet  shot  one  grim 
Red  leer  to  see  the  plain  catch  its  estray. 


For  mark  !  no  sooner  was  I  fairly  found 
Pledged  to  the  plain,  after  a  pa«e  or  two, 
Than  pausing  to  throw  backward  a  last  view 
To  the  safe  road,  'twas  gone  !  gray  plain  all 
Nothing  but  plain  to  the  horizon's  bound. 
I  might  go  on  ;  nought  else  remained  to  l« 

10. 

80  on  I  went.     I  think  T  never  saw 
Such  starved  ignoble  nature  ;  nothing  throve 
For  flowers  —  as  well  expect  a  cedar  grove  I 


TO  THE  DARK  TOWEB  CAMB.          99 

But  cockle,  spurge,  according  to  their  law 
Might  propagate  their  kind,  with  none  to  awe, 
You  'd  think  :  a  burr  had  been  a  treasure-trove. 

11. 

No !  penury,  inertness,  and  grimace, 

In  some  strange  sort,  were  the  land's  portion.     "  See 
Or  shut  your  eyes  "  —  said  Nature  peevishly  — 
"  It  nothing  skills  :  I  cannot  help  my  case : 
The  Judgment's  fire  alone  can  cure  this  place, 
Calcine  its  clods  and  set  my  prisoners  free." 

12. 

JF  there  pushed  any  ragged  thistle-stalk 
Above  its  mates,  the  head  was  chopped  —  the  bents 
Were  jealous  else.     What  made  those  holes  and  rents 
[n  the  dock's  harsh  swarth  leaves  —  bruised  as  to  baulk 
All  hope  of  greenness  ?  'tis  a  brute  must  walk 
Fashing  their  life  out,  with  a  brute's  intents. 

13. 

As  for  the  grass,  it  grew  as  scant  as  hair 
In  leprosy  —  thin  dry  blades  pricked  the  mud 
Which  underneath  looked  kneaded  up  with  blood- 
One  stiff  blind  horse,  his  every  bone  a-stare, 
Btood  stupefied,  however  he  came  there  — 
Thrust  out  past  service  from  the  devil's  stud  1 


100  "CH1LDE    UOLAND 

14. 

Alive  ?  he  might  be  dead  for  all  I  know 

With  that  red  gaunt  and  colloped  neck  a-strain, 
And  shut  eyes  underneath  the  rusty  mane. 

Seldom  went  such  grotesqueness  with  such  woe : 

I  never  saw  a  brute  I  hated  so  — 

He  must  be  wicked  to  deserve  such  pain. 

15. 

I  shut  my  eyes  and  turned  them  on  my  heart. 
As  a  man  calls  for  wine  before  he  fights, 
I  asked  one  draught  of  earlier,  happier  sights 
Ere  fitly  I  could  hope  to  play  my  part 
Think  first,  fight  afterwards  —  the  soldier's  art : 
One  taste  of  the  old  tunes  sets  all  to  rights ! 

16. 

Not  it !  I  fancied  Cuthbert's  reddening  face 
Beneath  its  garniture  of  curly  gold, 
Dear  fellow,  till  I  almost  felt  him  fold 
An  arm  in  mine  to  fix  me  to  the  place, 
That  way  he  used.     Alas  !  one  night's  disgrace  ! 
Out  went  my  heart's  new  fire  and  left  it  cold. 

17. 

Giles,  then,  the  soul  of  honour  —  there  he  stands 
Frank  as  ten  years  ago  when  knighted  first. 


TO    THE    DARK    TOWER    CAME."  101 

What  honest  men  should  dare  (he  said)  he  durst. 
Good  —  but  the  scene  shifts  —  faugh  !  what  hangman's 
Pin  to  his  breast  a  parcliment  ?  his  own  hands       [hands 

Read  it     Poor  traitor,  spit  upon  and  curst ! 

18. 

Better  this  present  than  a  past  like  that  — 
Back  therefore  to  my  darkening  path  again. 
No  sound,  no  sight  as  far  as  eye  could  strain. 

Will  the  night  send  a  howlet  or  a  bat  ? 

I  asked  :  when  something  on  the  dismal  flat 

Came  to  arrest  my  thoughts  and  change  their  train. 

19. 

A  sudden  little  river  crossed  my  path 

As  unexpected  as  a  serpent  comes. 

No  sluggish  tide  congenial  to  the  glooms  — 
This,  as  it  frothed  by,  might  have  been  a  bath 
For  the  fiend's  glowing  hoof —  to  see  the  wrath 

Of  its  black  eddy  bespate  with  flakes  and  spumes. 

20. 

So.  petty  yet  so  spiteful !  all  along 

Low  scrubby  alders  kneeled  down  over  it ; 
Drenched  willows  flung  them  headlong  in  a  fit 
Of  mute  despair,  a  suicidal  throng : 
The  river  which  had  done  them  all  the  wrong, 
Whate'er  that  was,  rolled  by,  deterred  no  whit. 


102  "CHILDE    ROLAND 

21. 

Which,  while  I  forded,  —  good  saints,  how  I  feared 
To  set  my  foot  upon  a  dead  man's  cheek, 
Each  step,  or  feel  the  spear  I  thrust  to  seek 

For  hollows,  tangled  in  his  hair  or  beard ! 

—  It  may  have  been  a  water-rat  I  speared, 
But,  ugh !  it  sounded  like  a  baby's  shriek. 

22. 

Glad  was  I  when  I  reached  the  other  bank. 

Now  for  a  better  country.     Vain  presage ! 

Who  were  the  strugglers,  what  war  did  they  wage 
Whose  savage  trample  thus  could  pad  the  dank 
Soil  to  a  plash  ?  toads  in  a  poisoned  tank, 

Or  wild  cats  in  a  redhot  iron  cage  — 

23. 

The  fight  must  so  have  seemed  in  that  fell  cirque. 

What  kept  them  there,  with  all  the  plain  to  choose  ? 

No  foot-print  leading  to  that  horrid  mews, 
None  out  of  it :  mad  brewage  set  to  work 
Their  brains,  no  doubt,  like  galley-slaves  the  Turk 

Pits  for  his  pastime,  Christians  against  Jews. 

24. 

And  more  than  that  —  a  furlong  on  —  why,  there  J 
What  bad  use  was  that  engine  for,  that  wheel, 
Or  brake,  not  wheel  —  that  harrow  fit  to  reel 


TO    THE   DAKK    TOWER    CAME."  10«> 

Men's  bodies  out  like  silk  ?  with  all  the  air 
Of  Tophet's  tool,  on  earth  left  unaware, 

Or  brought  to  sharpen  its  rusty  teeth  of  steel 

25. 

Then  came  a  bit  of  stubbed  ground,  once  a  wood, 
Next  a  marsh,  it  would  seem,  and  now  mere  earth 
Desperate  and  done  with  ;  (so  a  fool  finds  mirth, 

Makes  a  thing  and  then  mars  it,  till  his  mood 

Changes  and  off  he  goes  !)  within  a  rood 

Bog,  clay  and  rubble,  sand  and  stark  black  dearth. 

26. 

Now  blotches  rankling,  coloured  gay  and  grim, 
Now  patches  where  some  leanness  of  the  soil's 
Broke  into  moss  or  substances  lise  boils  ; 

Then  came  some  palsied  oak,  a  cleft  in  him 

Like  a  distorted  mouth  that  splits  its  rim 
Gaping  at  death,  and  dies  while  it  recoils. 

27. 

And  just  as  far  as  ever  from  the  end  ! 

Nought  in  the  distance  but  the  evening,  nought, 
To  point  my  footstep  further  !     At  the  thought, 
A  great  black  bird,  Apollyor.'s  bosom-friend, 
Sailed  past,  nor  beat  his  wide  wing  dragon-penned 
That  brushed  my  cap  —  perchance  the  guide  I  sought 


10 4  "  CHILDE    ROI  A.ND 

28. 

For  looking  up,  aware  I  somehow  grew 

'Spite  of  the  dusk,  the  plain  had  given  place 

All  round  to  mountains  —  with  such  name  to  grace 

Mere  ugly  heights  and  heaps  now  stol'n  in  view. 

How  thus  they  had  surprised  me,  —  solve  it,  you ! 
How  to  get  from  them  was  no  plainer  case. 

29. 
Yet  half  I  seemed  to  recognize  some  trick 

Of  mischief  happened  to  me,  God  knows  when  — 
In  a  bad  dream  perhaps.     Here  ended,  then, 
Progress  this  way.      When,  hi  the  very  nick 
Of  giving  up,  one  time  more,  came  a  click 

As  when  a  trap  shuts  —  you  're  inside  the  den ! 

30. 

Burningly  it  came  on  me  all  at  once, 

This  was  the  place  !  those  two  hills  on  the  right 
Crouched  like  two  buUs  locked  horn  in  horn  in  fight 

WTiile  to  the  left,  a  tall  scalped  mountain  .  .  .  Dunce, 

Fool,  to  be  dozing  at  the  very  nonce, 
After  a  life  spent  training  for  the  sight ! 

31. 

Wliat  in  the  midst  lay  but  the  Tower  itself? 
The  round  squat  turret,  blind  as  the  fool's  heart, 
Built  of  brown  stone,  without  a  counterpart 


TO    THB    DARK    TOWER    CAME."  105 

In  the  whole  world.     The  tempest's  mocking  elf 
Points  to  the  shipman  thus  the  unseen  shelf 
He  strikes  on,  only  when  the  timbers  start. 

32. 

Not  see  ?  because  of  night  perhaps  ?  —  Why,  day 
Came  back  again  for  that !  before  it  left, 
The  dying  sunset  kindled  through  a  cleft : 
The  hills  like  giants  at  a  hunting,  lay  — 
Chin  upon  hand,  to  see  the  game  at  bay,  — 
"  Now  stab  and  end  the  creature  — to  the  heft  I " 

33. 

Not  hear?  when  noise  was  everywhere  ?  it  tolled 
Increasing  like  a  bell.     Names  in  my  ears, 
Of  all  the  lost  adventurers  my  peers,  — 

How  such  an  one  was  strong,  and  such  was  bold, 

And  such  was  fortunate,  yet  each  of  old 

Lost,  lost !  one  moment  knelled  the  woe  of  years. 

34. 

There  they  stood,  ranged  along  the  hill-sides  —  met 
To  view  the  last  of  me,  a  living  frame 
For  one  more  picture  !  in  a  sheet  of  name 

[  saw  them  and  I  knew  them  all.     And  yet 

Dauntless  the  slug-horn  to  my  lips  I  set 
And  blew.    •'  Ghilde  Roland  to  the  Dark  Tower  came.'' 


RESPECTABILITY. 


DEAR,  had  the  world  in  its  caprice 

Deigned  to  proclaim  "  I  know  you  both, 
Have  recognized  your  plighted  troth, 
4m  sponsor  for  you  —  live  in  peace  ! "  — 
low  many  precious  months  and  years 

Of  youth  had  passed,  that  speed  so  fast, 
Before  we  found  it  out  at  last, 
The  world,  and  what  it  fears  ? 


How  much  of  priceless  life  were  spent 
With  men  that  every  virtue  decks, 
And  women  models  of  their  sex, 

Society's  true  ornament,  — 

Ere  we  dared  wander,  nights  like  this, 

Thro'  wind  and  rain,  and  watch  the  Seine^ 
And  feel  the  Boulevart  break  again 

To  warmth  and  light  and  bliss  ? 


RESPECTABILITY.  107 

3. 

I  know  !  the  world  proscribes  not  love ; 

Allows  my  finger  to  caress 

Your  lip's  contour  and  downiness, 
Provided  it  supply  a  glove. 
The  world's  good  word  !  —  the  Institute  1 

Guizot  receives  Montalembert ! 

Eh  ?  down  the  court  three  lampions  flare  — 
Put  forward  your  best  foot  I 


A  LIGHT  WOMAN. 

1. 

So  far  as  our  story  approaches  the  end, 

Which  do  you  pity  the  most  of  us  three  ?  — 

My  friend,  or  the  mistress  of  my  friend 
With  her  wanton  eyes,  or  me  ? 

2. 

My  friend  was  already  too  good  to  lose, 

And  seemed  in  the  way  of  improvement  yet, 

When  she  crossed  his  path  with  her  hunting-noos« 
And  over  him  drew  her  net. 

3. 

When  I  saw  him  tangled  in  her  toils, 
A  shame,  said  I,  if  she  adds  just  him 

To  her  nine-and-ninety  other  spoils, 
The  hundredth,  for  a  whim ! 

4. 

And  before  my  friend  be  wholly  hers, 

How  easy  to  prove  to  him,  I  said, 
An  eagle  's  the  game  her  pride  prefers, 

Though  she  snaps  at  the  wren  instead ! 


A    LIGHT    WOMAN.  109 

5. 

So  I  gave  her  eyes  my  own  eyes  to  take, 
My  hand  sought  hers  as  hi  earnest  need, 

And  round  she  turned  for  my  noble  sake, 
And  gave  me  herself  indeed. 

6. 

The  eagle  am  I,  with  my  fame  in  the  world, 
The  wren  is  he,  with  his  maiden  face. 

—  You  look  away  and  your  lip  is  curled  ? 
Patience,  a  moment's  space  ! 


For  see  —  my  friend  goes  shaking  and  white ; 

He  eyes  me  as  the  basilisk : 
I  have  turned,  it  appears,  his  day  to  night, 

Eclipsing  his  son's  disk. 

8. 

And  I  did  it,  he  thinks,  as  a  very  thief: 

"  Though  I  love  her  —  that  he  comprehends  — 
One  should  master  one's  passions,  (love,  in  chief) 
And  be  loyal  to  one's  friends ! " 

9. 

And  she,  —  she  lies  in  my  hand  as  tame 
As  a  pear  hung  basking  over  a  wall ; 

Just  a  touch  to  try  and  off  it  came ; 
'Tis  mine,  —  can  I  let  it  fall  ? 


110  A    LIGHT    WOMAN. 

10. 

With  no  mind  to  eat  it,  that 's  the  worat ! 

Were  it  thrown  in  the  road,  would  the  case  assist ' 
'Twas  quenching  a  dozen  blue-flies'  thirst 

When  I  gave  its  stalk  a  twist 

11. 
And  I,  —  what  I  seem  to  my  friend,  you  see  — 

What  I  soon  shall  seem  to  his  love,  you  guess. 
What  I  seem  to  myself,  do  you  ask  of  me  ? 

No  hero,  I  confess. 

12. 

Tis  an  awkward  thing  to  play  with  souls, 
And  matter  enough  to  save  one's  own. 

Yet  think  of  my  friend,  and  the  burning  coals 
He  played  with  for  bits  of  stone  1 

13. 

One  likes  to  show  the  truth  for  the  truth ; 

That  the  woman  was  light  is  very  true : 
But  suppose  she  says,  —  never  mind  that  youth  — 

What  wrong  have  I  done  to  you  ? 

14. 

Well,  any  how,  here  the  story  stays, 

So  far  at  least  as  I  understand ; 
And,  Robert  Browning,  you  writer  of  plays, 

Here 's  a  subject  made  to  your  hand ! 


THE  STATUE  AND  THE  BUST. 

THERE  's  a  palace  in  Florence,  the  world  knows  w*ll, 
And  a  statue  watches  it  from  the  square, 
And  this  story  of  both  do  the  townsmen  telL 

Ages  ago,  a  lady  there, 

At  the  furthest  window  facing  the  east 

Asked,  "  Who  rides  by  with  the  royal  air  ? " 

The  brides-maids'  prattle  around  her  ceased ; 

She  leaned  forth,  one  on  either  hand ; 

They  saw  how  the  blush  of  the  bride  increased  — 

They  felt  by  its  beats  her  heart  expand  — 
As  one  at  each  ear  and  both  in  a  breath 
Whispered,  "  The  Great-Duke  Ferdinand." 

That  selfsame  instant,  underneath, 
The  Duke  rode  past  in  his  idle  way, 
Empty  and  fine  like  a  swordless  sheath. 


112  THE    STATUE    AND    THE    BUST. 

Gray  he  rode,  with  a  friend  as  gay, 

Till  he  threw  his  head  back  —  "  Who  is  she  ?  " 

—  "A  Bride  the  Riccardi  brings  home  to-day." 

Hair  in  heaps  laid  heavily 

Over  a  pale  brow  spirit-pure  — 

Carved  like  the  heart  of  the  coal-black  tree, 

Crisped  like  a  war-steed's  encolure  — 
Which  vainly  sought  to  dissemble  her  eyes 
Of  the  blackest  black  our  eyes  endure. 

And  lo,  a  blade  for  a  knight's  emprise 
Filled  the  fine  empty  sheath  of  a  man,  — 
The  Duke  grew  straightway  brave  and  wise. 

He  looked  at  her,  as  a  lover  can  ; 

She  looked  at  him,  as  one  who  awakes,  — 

The  past  was  a  sleep,  and  her  life  began. 

As  love  so  ordered  for  both  their  sakes, 

A  feast  was  held  that  selfsame  night 

In  the  pile  which  the  mighty  shadow  makes. 

(For  Via  Larga  is'  three-parts  light, 

But  the  Palace  overshadows  one, 

Because  of  a  crime  which  may  God  requite  1 


THE  STATUE  AND  THE  BUST. 

To  Florence  and  God  the  wrong  was  done, 
Through  the  first  republic's  murder  there 
By  Cosimo  and  his  cursed  son.) 

(The  Duke  with  the  statue's  face  in  the  square) 

Turned  in  the  midst  of  his  multitude 

At  the  bright  approach  of  the  bridal  pair. 

Face  to  face  the  lovers  stood 

A  single  minute  and  no  more, 

While  the  bridegroom  bent  as  a  man  subdued  -» 

Bowed  till  his  bonnet  brushed  the  floor  — 
For  the  Duke  .on  the  lady  a  kiss  conferred, 
As  the  courtly  custom  was  of  yore. 

tn  a  minute  can  lovers  exchange  a  word  ? 
[f  a  word  did  pass,  which  I  do  not  think, 
Only  one  out  of  the  thousand  heard. 

That  was  the  bridegroom.     At  day's  brink 
He  and  his  bride  were  alone  at  last 
In  a  bed-chamber  by  a  taper's  blink. 

Calmly  he  said  that  her  lot  was  cast, 

That  the  door  she  had  passed  was  shut  on  her 

Till  the  final  catafalk  repassed 

8 


M4         THE  STATUE  AND  THE  BUSl. 

The  world  meanwhile,  its  noise  and  stir, 
Through  a  certain  window  facing  the  east 
She  might  watch  like  a  convent's  chronicler. 

Since  passing  the  door  might  lead  to  a  feast, 
And  a  feast  might  lead  to  so  much  beside, 
He,  of  many  evils,  chose  the  least. 

u  Freely  I  choose  too,"  said  the  bride  — 
a  Your  window  and  its  world  suffice." 
So  replied  the  tongue,  while  the  heart  replied 

K  If  I  spend  the  night  with  that  devil  twice, 
May  his  window  serve  as  my  loop  of  hell 
Whence  a  damned  soul  looks  on  Paradise ! 

"  I  fly  to  the  Duke  who  loves  me  well, 
Sit  by  his  side  and  laugh  at  sorrow 
Ere  I  count  another  ave-bell. 

k  'Tis  only  the  coat  of  a  page  to  borrow, 

And  tie  my  hair  in  a  horse-boy's  trim, 

And  I  save  my  soul  —  but  not  to-morrow  "  — 

(She  checked  herself  and  her  eye  grew  dim)  - 
u  My  father  tarries  to  bless  my  state : 
I  must  keep  it  one  day  inure  ibr  him. 


THE    STATUE    AND    THE    BUST.  115 

*  Is  one  day  more  so  long  to  wait  ? 
Moreover  the  Duke  rides  past,  I  know  — 
We  shall  see  each  other,  sure  as  fate," 

She  turned  on  her  side  and  slept.     Just  so  1 
So  we  resolve  on  a  thing  and  sleep. 
So  did  the  lady,  ages  ago. 

That  night  the  Duke  said,  "  Dear  or  cheap 
As  the  cost  of  this  cup  of  bliss  may  prove 
To  body  or  soul,  I  will  drain  it  deep." 

And  on  the  morrow,  bold  with  love, 

He  beckoned  the  bridegroom  (close  on  call, 

As  his  duty  bade,  by  the  Duke's  alcove) 

And  smiled  "  'Twas  a  very  funeral 

Your  lady  will  think,  this  feast  of  ours,  — 

A  shame  to  efface,  whate'er  befall ! 

"  What  if  we  break  from  the  Arno  bowers. 

And  let  Petraja,  cool  and  green, 

Cure  last  night's  fault  with  this  morning's  flowers  ?  * 

The  bridegroom,  not  a  thought  to  be  seen 
On  his  steady  brow  and  quiet  mouth, 
Said,  "  Too  much  favour  for  me  so  mean  I 


116  THE    STATUE    AND    THE    BUST. 

"  Alas !  my  lady  leaves  the  south. 

Each  wind  that  comes  from  the  Apennine 

Is  a  menace  to  her  tender  youth. 

"  No  way  exists,  the  wise  opine, 

If  she  quits  her  palace  twice  this  year, 

To  avert  the  flower  of  life's  decline." 

Quoth  the  Duke,  "  A  sage  and  a  kindly  fear. 
Moreover  Petraja  is  cold  this  spring  — 
Be  our  feast  to-night  as  usual  here  1 " 

And  then  to  himself — "  Which  night  shall  bring 
Thy  bride  to  her  lover's  embraces,  fool  — 
Or  I  am  the  fool,  and  thou  art  his  king ! 

u  Yet  my  passion  must  wait  a  night,  nor  cool  — 
For  to-night  the  Envoy  arrives  from  France, 
Whose  heart  I  unlock  with  thyself,  my  tool. 

"  I  need  thee  still  and  might  miss  perchance. 

To-day  is  not  wholly  lost,  beside, 

With  its  hope  of  my  lady's  countenance  — 

u  For  I  ride —  what  should  I  do  but  ride  ? 

And  passing  her  palace,  if  I  list, 

May  glance  at  its  window  —  well  betide  1 " 


THE    STATUK    AND    THE    BUST.  117 

So  said,  so  done  :  nor  the  lady  missed 
One  ray  that  broke  from  the  ardent  brow, 
Nor  a  curl  of  the  lips  where  the  spirit  kissed. 

Be  sure  that  each  renewed  the  vow, 
No  morrow's  sun  should  arise  and  set 
And  leave  them  then  as  it  left  them  now. 

But  next  day  passed,  and  next  day  yet, 
With  still  fresh  cause  to  wait  one  more 
Ere  each  leaped  over  the  parapet. 

And  still,  as  love's  brief  morning  wore, 
With  a  gentle  start,  half  smile,  half  sigh, 
They  found  love  not  as  it  seemed  before. 

They  thought  it  would  work  infallibly, 
But  not  in  despite  of  heaven  and  earth  — 
The  rose  would  blow  when  the  storm  passed  by, 

Meantime  they  could  profit  in  winter's  dearth 
By  winter's  fruits  that  supplant  the  rose : 
The  world  and  its  ways  have  a  certain  worth 

And  to  press  a  point  while  these  oppose 
Were  a  simple  policy  —  best  wait. 
And  lose  no  friends  and  gain  no  foes. 


118  THE    8TATUK    ANI>    THE    BUST. 

Meanwhile,  worse  fates  than  a  lover's  fate 
Who  daily  may  ride  and  lean  and  look 
Where  bis  lady  watches  behind  the  grate  ! 

And  she  —  she  watched  the  square  like  a  book 
Holding  one  picture  and  only  one, 
Which  daily  to  find  she  undertook. 


When  the  picture  was  reached  the  book  was 
And  she  turned  from  it  all  night  to  scheme 
Of  tearing  it  out  for  herself  next  sun. 


Weeks  grew  months,  years  —  gleam  by  gleam 

The  glory  dropped  from  youth  and  love, 

And  both  perceived  they  had  dreamed  a  dream. 

Which  hovered  as  dreams  do,  still  above,  — 
But  who  can  take  a  dream  for  truth  ? 
Oh,  hide  our  eyes  from  the  next  remove  1 

One  day  as  the  lady  saw  her  youth 
Depart,  and  the  silver  thread  that  streaked 
Her  hair,  and,  worn  by  the  serpent's  tooth, 

The  brow  so  puckered,  the  chin  so  peaked,  — 
And  wondered  who  the  woman  was, 
So  hollow-eyed  and  haggard-cheeked, 


THK    STATUE   AND    THE   BUST.  119 

Fronting  her  silent  in  the  glass  — 
M  Summon  here,"  she  suddenly  said, 
u  Before  the  rest  of  my  old  self  pass, 

"  Hun,  the  Carver,  a  hand  to  aid, 

Who  moulds  the  clay  no  love  will  change, 

And  fixes  a  beauty  never  to  fade. 

"  Let  Robbia's  craft  so  apt  and  strange 
Arrest  the  remains  of  young  and  fair, 
And  rivet  them  while  the  seasons  range. 

"  Make  me  a  face  on  the  window  there 
Waiting  as  ever,  mute  the  while, 
My  love  to  pass  below  in  the  square ! 

"  And  let  me  think  that  it  may  beguile 
Dreary  days  which  the  dead  must  spend 
Down  in  their  darkness  under  the  aisle  — 

"  To  say,  — '  what  matters  at  the  end  ? 
I  did  no  more  while  my  heart  was  warm, 
Than  does  that  image,  my  pale-faced  friend.' 

u  Where  is  the  use  of  the  lip's  red  charm, 
The  heaven  of  hair,  the  pride  of  the  brow, 
And  the  blood  that  blues  the  inside  arm  — 


1 20  *HE    STATUL    AND    THE    BUST. 

Unless  we  turn,  as  the  soul  knows  how, 
The  earthly  gift  to  an  end  divine  ? 
A  lady  of  clay  is  as  good,  I  trow." 

But  long  ere  Robbia's  cornice,  fine 

With  flowers  and  fruits  which  leaves  enlace, 

Was  set  where  now  is  the  empty  shrine  — 

(With,  leaning  out  of  a  bright  blue  space, 
As  a  ghost  might  from  a  chink  of  sky, 
The  passionate  pale  lady's  face  — 

Eying  ever  with  earnest  eye 

And  quick-turned  neck  at  its  breathless  stretch. 

Some  one  who  ever  passes  by  — ) 

The  Duke  sighed  like  the  simplest  wretch 

In  Florence,  "  So,  my  dream  escapes  ! 

Will  its  record  stay  ?  "     And  he  bade  them  fetch 

Some  subtle  fashioner  of  shapes  — 

"  Can  the  soul,  the  will,  die  out  of  a  man 

Ere  his  body  find  the  grave  that  gapes  ? 

"John  of  Douay  shall  work  my  plan, 
Mould  me  on  horseback  here  aloft, 
Alive  —  (the  subtle  artisan  !) 


THE  STATUE  AND  THE  BUST.          121 

*  In  the  very  square  I  cross  so  oft ! 
That  men  may  admire,  when  future  suns 
Shall  touch  the  ef  es  to  a  purpose  soft 

u  While  the  mouth  and  the  brow  are  brave  in  bronze  — 
Admire  and  say, '  When  he  was  alive, 
How  he  would  take  his  pleasure  once  ! ' 

"  And  it  shall  go  hard  but  I  contrive 

To  listen  meanwhile  and  laugh  in  my  tomb 

At  indolence  which  aspires  to  strive." 


So !  while  these  wait  the  trump  of  doom* 
How  do  their  spirits  pass,  I  wonder, 
Nights  and  days  in  the  narrow  room  ? 

Still,  I  suppose,  they  sit  and  ponder 
What  a  gift  life  was,  ages  ago, 
Six  steps  out  of  the  chapel  yonder. 

Surely  they  see  not  God,  I  kno\v, 

Nor  all  that  chivalry  of  His, 

The  soldier-saints  who,  row  on  row, 

Burn  upward  each  to  his  point  of  bliss  — 

Since,  the  end  of  life  being  manifest, 

He  had  cut  his  way  thro'  the  world  to  this. 


122  THE    STATUE   AND    THE   BUST. 

I  hear  your  reproach  —  "  But  delay  was  best, 

For  their  end  was  a  crime  ! "  —  Oh,  a  crime  will  do 

As  well,  I  reply,  to  serve  for  a  test, 

As  a  virtue  golden  through  and  through, 

Sufficient  to  vindicate  itself 

And  prove  its  worth  at  a  moment's  view. 

Must  a  game  be  played  for  the  sake  of  pelf? 
Where  a  button  goes,  'twere  an  epigram 
To  offer  the  stamp  of  the  very  Guelph. 

The  true  has  no  value  beyond  the  sham. 

As  well  the  counter  as  com,  I  submit, 

When  your  table 's  a  hat,  and  your  prize,  a  dram. 

Stake  your  counter  as  boldly  every  whit, 

Venture  as  truly,  use  the  same  skill, 

Do  your  best,  whether  winning  or  losing  it, 

If  you  choose  to  play  —  is  my  principle  ! 
Let  a  man  contend  to  the  uttermost 
For  his  life's  set  prize,  be  it  what  it  will ! 

The  counter  our  lovers  staked  was  lost 

As  surely  as  if  it  were  lawful  coin : 

And  the  sin  I  impute  to  each  frustrate  ghost 


THE    STATUE    AJS'D    THE    BUST.  123 

Was,  the  unlit  lamp  and  the  ungirt  loin, 
Though  the  end  in  sight  was  a  crime,  I  say. 
You  of  the  virtue,  (we  issue  join) 
How  strive  you  ?    De  te,fabttla  1 


LOVE  IN  A  LIFE. 

1. 

ROOM  after  room, 
I  hunt  the  house  through 
We  inhabit  together. 

Heart,  fear  nothing,  for,  heart,  thou  shalt  find  her, 
Next  tune,  herself !  —  not  the  trouble  behind  her 
Left  in  the  curtain,  the  couch's  perfume  ! 
As  she  brushed  it,  the  cornice-wreath  blossomed  anew,— 
Yon  looking-glass  gleamed  at  the  wave  of  her  feather. 

2. 

Yet  the  day  wears, 

And  door  succeeds  door  ; 

F  try  the  fresh  fortune  — 

Range  the  wide  house  from  the  wing  to  the  centre. 

Still  the  same  chance  !  she  goes  out  as  I  enter. 

Spend  my  whole  day  in  the  quest,  —  who  cares  ? 

But  'tis  twilight,  you  see, —  with  such  suites  to  explore, 

Such  closets  to  search,  such  alcoves  to  importune  1 


LIFE  IN  A  LOVE. 

ESCAPE  me  ? 
Never  — 
Beloved ! 
While  I  am  I,  and  you  are  you, 

So  long  as  the  world  contains  us  both, 
Me  the  loving  and  you  the  loth, 
While  the  one  eludes,  must  the  other  pursue. 
My  life  is  a  fault  at  last,  I  fear  — 

It  seems  too  much  like  a  fate,  indeed  ! 
Though  I  do  iry  best  I  shall  scarce  succeed  — 
But  what  if  I  fail  of  my  purpose  here  ? 
It  is  but  to  keep  the  nerves  at  strain, 

To  dry  one's  eyes  and  laugh  at  a  fall, 
And  baffled,  get  up  to  begin  again,  — 

So  the  chace  takes  up  one's  life,  that 's  all. 
While,  look  but  once  from  your  furthest  bound, 

At  me  so  deep  in  the  dust  and  dark, 
No  sooner  the  old  hope  drops  to  ground 

Than  a  new  one,  straight  tc  the  selfsame  mark, 
I  shape  me  — 
Ever 
Removed 


HOW  IT  STRIKES  A  CONTEMPORARY. 

I  ONLY  knew  one  poet  in  my  life  : 

And  this,  or  something  like  it,  was  his  way. 

You  saw  go  up  and  down  Valladolid, 
A  man  of  mark,  to  know  next  time  you  saw. 
His  very  serviceable  suit  of  black 
Was  courtly  once  and  conscientious  still, 
And  many  might  have  worn  it,  though  none  did : 
The  cloak  that  somewhat  shone  and  showed  the  thread* 
Had  purpose,  and  the  ruff,  significance. 
He  walked  and  tapped  the  pavement  with  his  cane, 
Scenting  the  world,  looking  it  full  in  face, 
An  old  dog,  bald  and  blindish,  at  his  heels. 
They  turned  up,  now,  the  alley  by  the  church, 
That  leads  no  whither ;  now,  they  breathed  themselvei 
On  the  main  promenade  just  at  the  wrong  time. 
You  'd  come  upon  his  scrutinizing  hat, 
afaking  a  peaked  shade  blacker  than  itself 
Agaiu3t  ti*i  single  window  spared  some  house 
intaci  yet  with  its  mouldered  Moorish  work,  — 
Or  else  surprise  the  ferrel  of  his  stick 
Trying  the  mortar's  temper  'tween  the  chinks 


HOW   IT    STRIKES    A    CONTEMPORARY.  127 


Of  some  new  shop  a-building,  French  and 

He  stood  and  watched  the  cobbler  at  his  trade, 

The  man  who  slices  lemons  into  drink, 

The  coffee-roaster's  brazier,  and  the  boys 

That  volunteer  to  help  him  turn  its  winch. 

He  glanced  o'er  books  on  stalls  with  half  an  eye, 

And  fly-leaf  ballads  on  the  vendor's  string, 

And  broad-edge  bold-print  posters  by  the  wall. 

He  took  such  cognizance  of  men  and  things, 

If  any  beat  a  horse,  you  felt  he  saw  ; 

If  any  cursed  a  woman,  he  took  note  ; 

Yet  stared  at  nobody,  —  they  stared  at  him, 

And  found,  less  to  their  pleasure  than  surprise, 

He  seemed  to  know  them  and  expect  as  much. 

So,  next  time  that  a  neighbour's  tongue  was  loosed, 

It  marked  the  shameful  and  notorious  fact, 

We  had  among  us,  not  so  much  a  spy, 

As  a  recording  chief-inquisitor, 

The  town's  true  master  if  the  town  but  knew  ! 

We  merely  kept  a  Governor  for  form, 

While  this  man  walked  about  and  took  account 

Of  all  thought,  said,  and  acted,  then  went  home, 

And  wrote  it  fully  to  our  Lord  the  King, 

Who  has  an  itch  to  know  things,  He  knows  why, 

And  reads  them  in  His  bedroom  of  a  night. 

Oh,  you  might  smile  !  there  wanted  not  a  touch, 

A  tang  of  ...  well,  it  was  not  wholly  ease 

As  back  into  your  mind  the  man's  look  came  — 

Stricken  in  years  a  little,  —  such  a  brow 


128  HOW    IT    STRIKES    A    CONTEMPORABY. 

His  eyes  had  to  live  under !  —  clear  as  flint 

On  either  side  the  formidable  nose 

Curved,  cut,  and  coloured,  like  an  eagle's  claw. 

Had  he  to  do  with  A.'s  surprising  fate  ? 

When  altogether  old  B.  disappeared 

And  young  C.  got  his  mistress,  —  was  't  our  friend. 

His  letter  to  the  King,  that  did  it  all  ? 

What  paid  the  bloodless  man  for  so  much  pains  ? 

Our  Lord  the  King  has  favourites  manifold, 

And  shifts  his  ministry  some  once  a  month ; 

Our  city  gets  new  Governors  at  whiles, — 

But  never  word  or  sign,  that  I  could  hear. 

Notified  to  this  man  about  the  streets 

The  King's  approval  of  those  letters  conned 

The  last  thing  duly  at  the  dead  of  night. 

Did  the  man  love  his  office  ?  frowned  our  Lord, 

Exhorting  when  none  heard  —  "  Beseech  me  not ! 

Too  far  above  my  people,  —  beneath  Me ! 

I  set  the  watch,  —  how  should  the  people  know  ? 

Forget  them,  keep  Me  all  the  more  hi  mind ! " 

Was  some  such  understanding  'twixt  the  Two  ? 

I  found  no  truth  in  one  report  at  least  — 
That  if  you  tracked  him  to  his  home,  down  lanes 
Beyond  the  Jewry,  and  as  clean  to  pace, 
You  found  he  ate  his  supper  in  a  room 
Blazing  with  lights,  four  Titians  on  the  wall, 
And  twenty  naked  girls  to  change  his  plate  ! 
Poor  man,  he  lived  another  kind  of  life 


HOW    IT    STRIKES    A    CONTEMPORARY.  129 

In  that  new,  stuccoed,  third  house  by  the  bridge, 

Fresh-painted,  rather  smart  than  otherwise  ! 

The  whole  street  might  o'erlook  him  as  he  sat, 

Leg  crossing  leg,  one  foot  on  the  dog's  back, 

Playing  a  decent  cribbage  with  his  maid 

( Jacynth,  you  're  sure  her  name  was)  o'er  the  cheese 

And  fruit,  three  red  halves  of  starved  winter-pears, 

Or  treat  of  radishes  in  April !  nine  — 

Ten,  struck  the  church  clock,  straight  to  bed  went  he. 

My  father,  like  the  man  of  sense  ne  was, 
Would  point  him  out  to  me  a  dozen  times , 
«  St  —  St "  he  'd  whisper,  « the  Corregidor !  " 
I  had  been  used  to  think  that  personage 
Was  one  with  lacquered  breeches,  lustrous  belt, 
And  feathers  like  a  forest  in  his  hat, 
Who  blew  a  trumpet  and  proclaimed  the  news. 
Announced  the  bull-fights,  gave  each  church  its  turn, 
And  memorized  the  miracle  in  vogue  ! 
He  had  a  great  observance  from  us  boys  — 
I  was  in  error ;  that  was  not  the  man. 

I'd  like  now,  yet  had  haply  been  afraid, 
To  have  just  looked,  when  this  man  came  to  die, 
And  seen  who  lined  the  clean  gay  garret's  sides 
And  stood  about  the  neat  low  truckle-bed, 
With  the  heavenly  manner  of  relieving  guard. 
Here  had  been,  mark,  the  general-in-chief, 
Thro'  a  whole  campaign  of  the  world's  life  and  death 
9 


130  HOW   IT    STRIKES    A    OONTEMPORAKf. 

Doing  the  King's  work  all  the  dim  day  long, 

En  his  old  coat,  and  up  to  his  knees  in  mud, 

Smoked  like  a  herring,  dining  on  a  crust,  — 

And  now  the  day  was  won,  relieved  at  once ! 

No  further  show  or  need  for  that  old  coat, 

You  are  sure,  for  one  thing !     Bless  us,  all  the  while 

How  sprucely  we  are  dressed  out,  you  and  I ! 

A.  second,  and  the  angels  alter  that. 

Well,  I  could  never  write  a  verse,  —  could  you  ? 

Let  'a  to  the  Prado  and  make  the  most  of  time. 


THE  LAST  RIPE  TOGETHER. 

1. 

I  SAID  —  Then,  dearest,  since  'tis  so, 
Since  now  at  length  my  fate  I  know, 
Since  nothing  all  my  love  avails, 
Since  all  my  life  seemed  meant  for,  fails, 

Since  this  was  written  and  needs  must  be  — 
My  whole  heart  rises  up  to  bless 
Your  name  in  pride  and  thankfulness  ! 
Take  back  the  hope  you  gave,  —  I  claim 
Only  a  memory  of  the  same, 
— And  this  beside,  if  you  will  not  blame, 

Your  leave  for  one  more  last  ride  with  me. 

2. 

My  mistress  bent  that  brow  of  hers, 
Those  deep  dark  eyes  where  pride  demure 
When  pity  would  be  softening  through, 
Fixed  me  a  breathing-while  or  two 

With  life  or  death  in  the  balance  —  Right ! 
The  blood  replenished  me  again  : 


(32  THE    LAST    RIDE    TOGETHER. 

My  last  thought  was  at  least  not  vain. 
I  and  my  mistress,  side  by  side 
Shall  be  together,  breathe  and  ride, 
So  one  day  more  am  I  deified. 

Who  knows  but  the  world  may  end  to-night  ? 


Hush  !  if  you  saw  some  western  cloud 

All  billowy-bosomed,  over-bowed 

By  many  benedictions  —  sun's 

And  moon's  and  evening-star's  at  once  — 

And  so,  you,  looking  and  loving  best, 
Conscious  grew,  your  passion  drew 
Cloud,  sunset,  moonrise,  star-shine  too 
Down  on  you,  near  and  yet  more  near, 
Till  flesh  must  fade  for  heaven  was  here  !  — 
Thus  leant  she  and  lingered  —  joy  and  fear  ! 

Thus  lay  she  a  moment  on  my  breast. 

4. 

Then  we  began  to  ride.     My  soul 
Smoothed  itself  out,  a  long-cramped  scroll 
Freshening  and  fluttering  in  the  wind. 
Past  hopes  already  lay  behind. 

What  need  to  strive  with  a  life  awry  ? 
Had  I  said  that,  had  I  done  this, 
So  might  I  gain,  so  might  I  miss. 
Might  she  have  loved  me  ?  just  as  well 


THE    LAST    RIDE    TOGETHER.  133 

She  might  have  hated,  —  who  can  tell  ? 
Where  had  I  been  now  if  the  worst  befell  ? 
And  here  we  are  riding,  she  and  L 

5. 

Fail  I  alone,  in  words  and  deeds  ? 
Why,  all  men  strive  and  who  succeeds  ? 
We  rode  ;  it  seemed  my  spirit  flew, 
Saw  other  regions,  cities  new, 

As  the  world  rushed  by  on  either  side. 
I  thought,  All  labour,  yet  no  less 
Bear  up  beneath  their  unsuccess. 
Look  at  the  end  of  work,  contrast 
The  petty  Done  the  Undone  vast, 
This  present  of  theirs  with  the  hopeful  past !        , 

I  hoped  she  would  love  me.     Here  we  ride. 

6. 

What  hand  and  brain  went  ever  paired  ? 
What  heart  alike  conceived  and  dared  ? 
What  act  proved  all  its  thought  had  been  ? 
What  will  but  felt  the  fleshly  screen  ? 

We  ride  and  I  see  her  bosom  heave. 
There's  many  a  crown  for  who  can  reach 
Ten  lines,  a  statesman's  life  in  each  ! 
The  flag  stuck  on  a  heap  of  bones, 
A  soldier's  doing  !  what  atones  ? 
They  scratch  his  name  on  the  Abbey -stones. 

My  riding  is  better,  by  their  leave. 


134  THE   LAST   HIDE   TOGETHER. 


What  does  it  all  mean,  poet  ?  well, 
Your  brain 's  beat  into  rhythm  —  you  tell 
What  we  felt  only  ;  you  expressed 
You  hold  things  beautiful  the  best, 

And  pace  them  in  rhyme  so,  side  by  side. 
Tis  something,  nay  'tis  much  —  but  then, 
Have  you  yourself  what 's  best  for  men  ? 
Are  you  —  poor,  sick,  old  ere  your  time  — 
Nearer  one  whit  your  own  sublime 
Than  we  who  never  have  turned  a  rhyme  ? 

Sing,  riding 's  a  joy  !     For  me,  I  ride. 

8. 

And  you,  great  sculptor  —  so  you  gave 
A  score  of  years  to  art,  her  slave, 
And  that 's  your  Venus  —  whence  we  turn 
To  yonder  girl  that  fords  the  burn  ! 

You  acquiesce  and  shall  I  repine  ? 
What,  man  of  music,  you,  gro\vn  gray 
With  notes  and  nothing  else  to  say, 
Is  this  your  sole  praise  from  a  friend, 
"  Greatly  his  opera's  strains  intend, 
«  But  in  music  we  know  how  fashions  end ! " 

I  gave  my  youth  —  but  we  ride,  in  fine. 

9. 

Who  knows  what's  fit  for  us  ?     Had  fate 
Proposed  bliss  here  should  sublimate 


THE    LAST    RIDE    TOGETHER.  135 

My  being  ;  had  I  signed  the  bond  — 
Still  one  must  lead  some  life  beyond, 

—  Have  a  bliss  to  die  with,  dim-descried. 
This  foot  once  planted  on  the  goal, 
This  glory-garland  round  my  soul, 
Could  I  descry  such  ?     Try  and  test ! 
I  sink  back  shuddering  from  the  quest  — 
Earth  being  so  good,  would  Heaven  seem  best  ? 

Now,  Heaven  and  she  are  beyond  this  ride. 

10. 

And  yet  —  she  has  not  spoke  so  long ! 
What  if  Heaven  be,  that,  fair  and  strong 
At  life's  best,  with  our  eyes  upturned 
Whither  life's  flower  is  first  discerned, 

We,  fixed  so,  ever  should  so  abide  ? 
What  if  we  still  ride  on,  we  two, 
With  life  forever  old  yet  new, 
Changed  not  in  kind  but  in  degree, 
The  instant  made  eternity,  — 
And  Heaven  just  prove  that  I  and  she 

Bide,  ride  together,  forever  ride  ? 


THE  PATRIOT. 

AM  OLD  STOBT. 
I. 

IT  was  roses,  roses,  all  the  way, 

"With  myrtle  mixed  in  my  path  like  mad. 

The  house-roofs  seemed  to  heave  and  sway, 
The  church-spires  flamed,  such  flags  they  had, 

A  year  ago  on  this  very  day  ! 


The  air  broke  into  a  mist  with  bells, 

The  old  walls  rocked  with  the  crowds  and  cries. 
Had  I  said,  "  Good  folks,  mere  noise  repels  — 

But  give  me  your  sun  from  yonder  skies  ! " 
They  had  answered,  "  And  afterward,  what  else  ?  " 

« 

3. 

Alack,  it  was  I  who  leaped  at  the  sun, 
To  give  it  my  loving  friends  to  keep. 

Nought  man  could  do,  have  I  left  undone, 
And  you  see  my  harvest,  what  I  reap 

This  very  day,  now  a  year  is  run. 


THE    PATRIO1.  137 

4. 

There 's  nobody  on  the  house-tops  now  — 
Just  a  palsied  few  at  the  windows  set  — 

For  the  best  of  the  sight  is,  all  allow, 
At  the  Shambles'  Gate  — or,  better  yet, 

By  the  very  scaffold's  foot,  I  trow. 

5. 

I  go  in  the  rain,  and,  more  than  needs, 

A  rope  cuts  both  my  wrists  behind, 
And  I  think,  by  the  feel,  my  forehead  bleeds, 

For  they  fling,  whoever  has  a  mind, 
Stones  at  me  for  my  year's  misdeeds. 

6. 

Thus  I  entered  Brescia,  and  thus  I  go  ! 

In  such  triumphs,  people  have  dropped  down  dead. 
"  Thou,  paid  by  the  World,  —  what  dost  thou  owe 

Me  ?  "  God  might  have  questioned  :  but  now  instead 
Tis  God  shall  requite  !  I  am  safer  so. 


MASTER  flOGUES  OF  SAXE-GOTHA. 


HIST,  but  a  word,  fair  and  soft ! 

Forth  and  be  judged,  Master  Hugues ! 
Answer  the  question  I  've  put  you  so  oft  — 

What  do  you  mean  by  your  mountainous  fugues 
«ee,  we  're  alone  in  the  loft, 


1,  the  poor  organist  here, 

Hugues,  the  composer  of  note  — 
Dead,  though,  and  done  with,  this  many  a  year 

Let 's  have  a  colloquy,  something  to  quote, 
Make  the  world  prick  up  its  ear ! 


See,  the  church  empties  a-pace. 

Fast  they  extinguish  the  lights  — 
Hallo,  there,  sacristan  !  five  minutes'  grace ! 


MASTER    HUGHES    OF    SAXK-GOTHA.  139 

Here 's  a  crank  pedal  wants  setting  to  rights, 
Baulks  one  of  holding  the  base. 

4. 

See,  our  huge  house  of  the  sounds 

Hushing  its  hundreds  at  once, 
Bids  the  last  loiterer  back  to  his  bounds 

—  Oh,  you  may  challenge  them,  not  a  response 
Get  the  church  saints  on  their  rounds ! 


(Saints  go  their  rounds,  who  shall  doubt  ? 

—  March,  with  the  moon  to  admire, 
Up  nave,  down  chancel,  turn  transept  about, 

Supervise  all  betwixt  pavement  and  spire, 
Put  rats  and  mice  to  the  rout  — 

6. 

Aloys  and  Jurien  and  Just  — 

Order  things  back  to  their  place, 
Have  a  sharp  eye  lest  the  candlesticks  rust, 

Rub  the  church  plate,  darn  the  sacrament  lace. 
Clear  the  desk  velvet  of  dust) 

7. 

Here 's  your  book,  younger  folks  shelve  ! 
Played  I  not  off-hand  and  runningly, 
Just  now,  your  masterpiece,  hard  number  twelve  ? 


140  MASTER    HDGDES    OF    SAXE-GOTHA. 

Here's  what  should  strike, —  could  one  handle   il 
Help  the  axe,  give  it  a  helve !  [cunningly 

8. 

Page  after  page  as  I  played, 

Every  bar's  rest  where  one  wipes 
Sweat  from  one's  brow,  I  looked  up  and  surveyed 

O'er  my  three  claviers,  yon  forest  of  pipes 
Whence  you  still  peeped  in  the  shade. 

9. 

Sure  you  were  wishful  to  speak, 

You,  with  brow  ruled  like  a  score, 
Yes,  and  eyes  buried  in  pits  on  each  cheek 

Like  two  great  breves  as  they  wrote  them  of  yore 
Each  side  that  bar,  your  straight  beak ! 

10. 

Sure  you  said  —  "  Good,  the  mere  notes  ! 

Still,  couldst  thou  take  my  intent, 
Know  what  procured  me  our  Company's  votes  — 

Masters  being  lauded  and  sciolists  shent, 
Parted  the  sheep  from  the  goats ! " 

11. 

Well  then,  speak  up,  never  flinch ! 

Quick,  ere  my  candle's  a  snuff 
—  Burnt,  do  you  see  ?  to  its  uttermost  inch  — 


MASTER   HUGUE8    OF   SAXE-GOTHA.  141 

/  believe  in  you,  but  that 's  not  enough. 
Erive  my  conviction  a  clinch  . 

12. 

First  you  deliver  your  phrase 

—  Nothing  propound,  that  I  see, 
Fit  in  itself  for  much  blame  or  much  praise  — 

Answered  no  less,  where  no  answer  needs  bft  i 
Off  start  the  Two  on  then-  ways  I 

IS. 

Straight  must  a  Third  interpose, 

Volunteer  needlessly  help  — 
In  strikes  a  Fourth,  a  Fifth  thrusts  in  his  nose, 

So  the  cry 's  open,  the  kennel 's  a-yelp, 
Argument 's  hot  to  the  close ! 

14. 

One  disertates,  he  is  candid  — 

Two  must  discept,  —  has  distinguished ! 
Three  helps  the  couple,  if  ever  yet  man  did : 

Four  protests,  Five  makes  a  dart  at  the.  thing  wished  — • 
Back  to  One,  goes  the  case  bandied ! 

15. 

One  says  his  say  with  a  difference  — 

More  of  expounding  explaining ! 
Ail  now  is  wrangle,  abuse,  and  rociferance  — 


142  MASTER   HDGDES    OF   SAXE-GOTHA. 

Now  there  's  a  truce,  all 's  subdued,  self-restraining  • 
Five,  though,  stands  out  all  the  stiffer  hence. 

16. 

One  is  incisive,  corrosive  — 

Two  retorts,  nettled,  curt,  crepitant  — 
Three  makes  rejoinder,  expansive,  explosive  — 

Four  overbears  them  all,  strident  and  strepitant  — 
Five  .  .  .  O  Danaides,  0  Sieve  ! 

17. 

Now,  they  ply  axes  and  crowbars  — 

Now,  they  prick  pins  at  a  tissue 
Fine  as  a  skein  of  the  casuist  Escobar's 

Worked  on  the  bone  of  a  lie.     To  what  issue  ? 
Where  is  our  gain  at  the  Two-bars  ? 

18. 

Estfuga,  volvitur  rota! 

On  we  drift.     Where  looms  the  dim  port  ? 
One,  Two,  Three,  Four,  Five,  contribute  their  quota  - 

Something  is  gained,  if  one  caught  but  the  import  — 
Sshow  it  us,  Hugues  of  Saxe-Gotha! 

19. 
VVTiat  with  affirming,  denying, 

Holding,  risposting,  subjoining, 
AJ1  's  like  ...  it 's  like  ...  for  an  instance  I  'm  trying  . 


MASTER    HUGUES    Otf    SAXE-GOTHA.  143 

There  !  See  our  roof,  its  gilt  moulding  and  groining 
Under  those  spider-webs  lying! 

20 

So  y  our  fugue  broadens  and  thickens, 

Greatens  and  deepens  and  lengthens, 
Till  one  exclaims  —  "  But  where 's  music,  the  dickens  ? 

Blot  ye  the  gold,  while  your  spider-web  strengthens, 
Blacked  to  the  stoutest  of  tickens  ?  " 

21. 

E  for  man's  effort  am  zealous. 

Prove  me  such  censure 's  unfounded ! 
Seems  it  surprising  a  lover  grows  jealous  — 

Hopes  'twas  for  something  his  organ-pipes  sounded, 
Tiring  three  boys  at  the  bellows  ? 

22. 

Is  it  your  moral  of  Life  ? 

Such  a  web,  simple  and  subtle, 
Weave  we  on  earth  here  in  impotent  strife. 

Backward  and  forward  each  throwing  his  shuttle, 
Death  ending  all  with  a  knife  ? 

23. 

Over  our  heads  Truth  and  Nature  — 
Still  our  life 's  zigzags  and  dodges, 
Ins  and  outs  weaving  a  netf  legislature  — 


144  MASTER   HUGUES    OF   SAXE-GOTHA. 

God's  gold  just  shining  its  last  where  that  lodges, 
Palled  beneath  Man's  usurpature ! 

24. 

So  we  o'ershroud  stars  and  roses, 

Cherub  and  trophy  and  garland. 
Nothings  grow  something  which  quietly  closes 

Heaven's  earnest  eye,  —  not  a  glimpse  of  the  far  lano 
Gets  through  our  comments  and  glozes. 

25. 

Ah,  but  traditions,  inventions, 

(Say  we  and  make  up  a  visage) 
So  many  men  with  such  various  intentions 

Down  the  past  ages  must  know  more  than  this  age  I 
Leave  the  web  all  its  dimensions ! 


Who  thinks  Hugues  wrote  for  the  deaf? 

Proved  a  mere  mountain  in  labour  ? 
Better  submit  —  try  again  —  what 's  the  clef  ? 

'Faith,  it 's  no  trifle  for  pipe  and  for  tabor  — 
Four  flats  —  the  minor  in  F. 

27. 

Friend,  your  fugue  taxes  the  finger. 

Learning  it  once,  who  would  lose  it? 
Yet  all  the  while  a  misjjivin£  will  linger  — 


MASTER    HUGUES    OF    9AXE-GOTHA.  145 

Truth  's  golden  o'er  us  although  we  refuse  it  — 
Nature,  thro'  dust-clouds  we  fling  her ! 

28. 

Bugues  !  I  advise  med  pcend 

(Counterpoint  glares  like  a  Gorgon) 
Bid  One,  Two,  Three,  Four,  Five,  clear  the  arena ! 

Say  the  word,  straight  I  unstop  the  Full-Organ, 
Blare  out  the  mode  Pahst^ina. 

29. 

While  in  the  roof,  if  I  'm  right  there  — 

.  .  .  Lo,  you,  the  wick  in  the  socket ! 
Hallo,  you  sacristan,  show  us  a  light  there  ! 

Down  it  dips,  gone  like  a  rocket ! 
What,  you  want,  do  you,  to  come  unawares, 
Sweeping  the  church  up  for  first  morning-prayers, 
And  find  a  poor  devil  at  end  of  his  cares 
A-t  the  foot  of  your  rotten-planked  rat-riddled  stain  ? 

Do  I  carry  the  moon  in  my  pocket  ? 


10 


BISHOP  BLOUGRAM'S   APOLOGY. 

No  more  wine  ?  then  we  '11  push  back  chairs  and  talk 
A  final  glass  for  me,  tho' :  cool,  i'faith  ! 
We  ought  to  have  our  Abbey  back,  you  see. 
It'  s  different,  preaching  in  basilicas, 
And  doing  duty  in  some  masterpiece 
Like  this  of  brother  Pugin's,  bless  his  heart ! 
I  doubt  if  they  're  half  baked,  those  chalk  rosettes, 
Ciphers  and  stucco-twiddlings  everywhere  ; 
It 's  just  like  breathing  in  a  lime-kiln  :  eh  ? 
These  hot  long  ceremonies  of  our  church 
Cost  us  a  little  —  oh,  they  pay  the  price, 
You  take  me  —  amply  pay  it !     Now,  we  '11  talk. 

So,  you  despise  me,  Mr.  Gigadibs. 
No  deprecation,  —  nay,  I  beg  you,  sir  ! 
Beside  'tis  our  engagement :  don't  you  know, 
I  promised,  if  you  'd  watch  a  dinner  out, 
We  'd  see  truth  dawn  together  ?  —  truth  that  peeps 
Over  the  glass's  edge  when  dinner  's  done* 
And  body  gets  its  sop  and  holds  its  noise 


BISHOP  BLOUGRAM'S  APOLOGY.  147 

AJK!  leaves  soul  free  a  little.     Now 's  the  time  — 

Tis  break  of  day  !     You  do  despise  me  then. 

And  if  I  say,  "  despise  me,"  —  never  fear  — 

[  know  you  do  not  in  a  certain  sense  — 

Not  in  my  arm-chair  for  example  :  here, 

I  well  imagine  you  respect  my  place 

(Status,  entourage,  worldly  circumstance) 

Quite  to  its  value  —  very  much  indeed   • 

—  Are  up  to  the  protesting  eyes  of  you 

In  pride  at  being  seated  here  for  once  — 

You  '11  turn  it  to  such  capital  account ! 

When  somebody,  through  years  an^  years  to  come, 

Hints  of  the  bishop,  —  names  me —  that 's  enough  — 

u  Blougram  ?  I  knew  him  "  —  (into  it  you  slide) 

"  Dined  with  him  once,  a  Corpus  Christi  Day, 

All  alone,  we  two  —  he  's  a  clever  man  — 

And  after  dinner,  —  why,  the  wine  you  know,  — 

Oh,  there  was  wine,  and  good  !  —  what  with  the  wine  . . 

'Faith,  we  began  upon  all  sorts  of  talk ! 

He  's  no  bad  fellow,  Blougram  — he  had  seen 

Something  of  mine  he  relished  —  some  review  — 

He  's  quite  above  their  humbug  in  his  heart, 

Half-said  as  much,  indeed  = —  the  thing  's  his  trade  — 

[  warrant,  Blougram 's  skeptical  at  times  — 

How  otherwise  ?     I  liked  him,  I  confess  !  " 

•die  ch'e,  my  dear  sir,  as  we  say  at  Rome, 

Don't  you  protest  now  !     It 's  fair  give  and  take  ; 

You  have  had  your  turn  and  spoken  your  home-truths  — 

The  hand  's  mine  now,  and  here  you  follow  suit. 


F48  BISHOP  BLOUGRAM'S  APOLOGY. 

Thus  much  conceded,  still  the  first  fact  stays  — 
You  do  despise  me  ;  your  ideal  of  life 
Is  not  the  bishop's  —  you  would  not  be  I  — 
You  would  like  better  to  be  Goethe,  now, 
Or  Buonaparte  —  or,  bless  me,  lower  still, 
Count  D'Orsay.  —  so  you  did  what  you  preferred, 
Spoke  as  you  thought,  and,  as  you  cannot  help, 
Believed  or  disbelieved,  no  matter  what, 
So  long  as  on  that  point,  whate'er  it  was, 
You  loosed  your  mind,  were  whole  and  sole  yourself 
—  That,  my  ideal  never  can  include, 
Upon  that  element  gf  truth  and  worth 
Never  be  based  !  for  say  they  make  me  Pope 
(They  can't — suppose  it  for  our  argument) 
Why,  there  I  'm  at  my  tether's  end  —  I  've  reached 
My  height,  and  not  a  height  which  pleases  you. 
An  unbelieving  Pope  won't  do,  you  say. 
It 's  like  those  eerie  stories  nurses  tell, 
Of  how  some  actor  played  Death  on  a  stage 
With  pasteboard  crown,  sham  orb,    and  tinselled  dart, 
And  called  himself  the  monarch  of  the  world, 
Then  going  in  the  tire-room  afterward 
Because  the  play  was  done,  to  shift  himself, 
Got  touched  upon  the  sleeve  familiarly 
The  moment  he  had  suut  the  closet  door 
By  Death  himself.     Thus  God  might  touch  a  Pop« 
At  unawares,  ask  what  his  baubles  mean, 
And  whose  part  he  presumed  to  play  ju8t  now  ? 
Best  be  yourself,  imperial,  plain  and  true  ! 


BISHOP  BLOUGRAM'S  APOLOGY  149 

So,  drawing  comfortable  breath  again, 

You  weigh  and  find  whatever  more  or  less 

I  boast  of  my  ideal  realized 

Is  nothing  in  the  balance  when  opposed 

To  your  ideal,  your  grand  simple  life, 

Of  which  you  will  not  realize  one  jot. 

I  am  much,  you  are  nothing  ;  you  would  be  a! 

I  would  be  merely  much  —  you  beat  me  there. 

No,  friend,  you  do  not  beat  me,  —  hearken  why 
The  common  problem,  your's,  mine,  every  one's, 
Is  not  to  fancy  what  were  fair  in  life 
Provided  it  could  be,  —  but,  finding  first 
What  may  be,  then  find  how  to  make  it  fair 
Up  to  our  means  —  a  very  different  thing ! 
No  abstract  intellectual  plan  of  life 
Quite  irrespective  of  life's  plainest  laws, 
But  one,  a  man,  who  is  man  and  nothing  more, 
May  lead  within  a  world  which  (by  your  leave) 
Is  Rome  or  London  —  not  Fool's-paradise. 
Embellish  Rome,  idealize  away, 
Make  Paradise  of  London  if  you  can, 
You  're  welcome,  nay,  you  're  wise. 

A  simile! 

We  mortals  cross  the  ocean  of  this  world 
Each  in  his  average  cabin  of  a  life  — 
The  best 's  not  big,  the  worst  yields  elbow-room. 
Now  ftr  our  six  months'  voyage  —  how  prepare? 


150  BISHOP    BLOUGRAM*S    APOLOGY. 

You  come  on  shipboard  with  a  landsman's  list 

Of  things  he  calls  convenient  —  so  they  are  ! 

An  India  screen  is  pretty  furniture, 

A  piano-forte  is  a  fine  resource, 

All  Balzac's  novels  occupy  one  shelf, 

The  new  edition  fifty  volumes  long; 

And  little  Greek  books  with  the  funny  type 

They  get  up  well  at  Leipsic  fill  the  next  — 

Go  on  !  slabbed  marble,  what  a  bath  it  makes  ! 

And  Parma's  pride,  the  Jerome,  let  us  add ! 

Twere  pleasant  could  Correggio's  fleeting  glow 

Hang  full  in  face  of  one  where'er  one  roams, 

Since  he  more  than  the  others  brings  with  him 

[taly's  self, —  the  marvellous  Modenese  ! 

Yet  'twas  not  on  your  list  before,  perhaps. 

—  Alas  !  friend,  here  's  the  agent  ...  is 't  the  name  ? 

The  captain,  or  whoever 's  master  here  — 

You  see  him  screw  his  face  up ;  what 's  his  cry 

Ere  you  set  foot  on  shipboard  ?     "  Six  feet  square ! " 

If  you  won't  understand  what  six  feet  mean, 

Compute  and  purchase  stores  accordingly  — 

And  if  in  pique  because  he  overhauls 

Your  Jerome,  piano  and  bath,  you  come  on  board 

Bare  —  why  you  cut  a,  figure  at  the  first. 

While  sympathetic  landsmen  see  you  off; 

Not  afterwards,  when,  long  ere  half  seas  o'er, 

You  peep  up  from  your  utterly  naked  boards 

tnto  some  snug  and  well-appointed  berth 

Like  mine,  for  instance  (try  the  cooler  jug  — 


BISHOP  BLOUGRAM'S  APOLOGY 

Put  back  the  other,  but  don't  jog  the  ice) 

And  mortified  you  mutter  "  Well  and  good  — 

He  sits  enjoying  his  sea-furniture  — 

'Tis  stout  and  proper,  and  there  's  store  of  it, 

Though  I  've  the  better  notion,  all  agree, 

Of  fitting  rooms  up  !  hang  the  carpenter, 

Neat  ship-shape  fixings  and  contrivances  — 

I  would  have  brought  my  Jerome,  frame  and  all !  * 

And  meantime  you  bring  nothing :  never  mind  — 

You  Ve  proved  your  artist-nature  :  what  you  don't, 

You  might  bring,  so  despise  me,  as  I  say. 

Now  come,  let 's  backward  to  the  starting  place. 
See  my  way :  we  're  two  college  friends,  suppose  — 
Prepare  together  for  our  voyage,  then, 
Each  note  and  check  the  other  in  his  work, — 
Here  's  mine,  a  bishop's  outfit  ;  criticize  ! 
What 's  wrong  ?  why  won't  you  be  a  bishop  too  ? 

Why,  first,  you  don't  believe,  you  don't  and  can  t, 
(Not  statedly,  that  is,  and  fixedly 
And  absolutely  and  exclusively) 
In  any  revelation  called  divine. 
No  dogmas  nail  your  faith  — and  what  remains 
But  say  so,  like  the  honest  man  you  are  ? 
First,  therefore,  overhaul  theology  ! 
Nay,  I  too,  not  a  fool,  you  please  to  think, 
Must  find  believing  every  whit  as  hard, 
And  if  I  do  not  frankly  say  as  much, 
The  ugly  consequence  is  clear  enough. 


152  BISHOP  BLODGBAM'S  APOLOGY. 

Now,  wait,  my  friend :  well,  I  do  not  believe  — 
If  you  '11  accept  no  faith  that  is  not  fixed, 
Absolute  and  exclusive,  as  you  say. 
(You  're  wrong — I  mean  to  prove  it  in  due  time) 
Meanwhile,  I  know  where  difficulties  lie 
I  could  not,  cannot  solve,  nor  ever  shall, 
So  give  up  hope  accordingly  to  solve  — 
(To  you,  and  over  the  wine.)     Our  dogmas  then 
With  both  of  us,  tho'  in  unlike  degree, 
Missing  full  credence  —  overboard  with  them! 
I  mean  to  meet  you  on  your  own  premise  — 
Good,  there  go  mine  in  company  with  yours ! 

And  now  what  are  we  ?  unbelievers  both, 
Calm  and  complete,  determinately  fixed 
To-day,  to-morrow,  and  forever,  pray  ? 
You  '11  guarantee  me  that  ?     Not  so,  I  think. 
In  nowise  !  all  we  Ve  gained  is,  that  belief, 
As  unbelief  before,  shakes  us  by  fits, 
Confounds  us  like  its  predecessor.     Where 's 
The  gain  ?  how  can  we  guard  our  unbelief, 
Make  it  bear  fruit  to  us  ?  —  the  problem  here. 
Just  when  we  are  safest,  there 's  a  sunset-touch, 
A  fancy  from  a  flower-bell,  some  one's  death, 
A  chorus-ending  from  Euripides,  — 
And  that's  enough  for  fifty  hopes  and  fears 
As  old  and  new  at  once  as  nature's  self, 
To  rap  and  knock  and  enter  in  our  soul, 
fake  hands  and  dance  there,  a  fantastic  ring, 


BISHOP  BLOUGRAM'S  APOLOGY.  158 

Round  the  ancient  idol,  on  his  base  again,  — 
The  grand  Perhaps  !  we  look  on  helplessly,  — 
There  the  old  misgivings,  crooked  questions  are  — 
This  good  God,  —  what  he  could  do,  if  he  would, 
Would,  if  he  could  —  then  must  have  done  long  since . 
If  so,  when,  where,  and  how  ?  some  way  must  be,  — - 
Once  feel  about,  and  soon  or  late  you  hit 
Some  sense,  in  which  it  might  be,  after  all. 
Why  not,  "  The  Way,  the  Truth,  the  Life  ?" 

—  That  way 

Over  the  mountain,  which  who  stands  upon 
Is  apt  to  doubt  if  it 's  indeed  a  road  ; 
While  if  he  views  it  from  the  waste  itself, 
Up  goes  the  line  there,  plain  from  base  to  brow, 
Not  vague,  mistakable  !  what 's  a  break  or  two 
Seen  from  the  unbroken  desert  either  side? 
And  then  (to  bring  in  fresh  philosophy) 
What  if  the  breaks  themselves  should  prove  at  last 
The  most  consummate  of  contrivances 
To  train  a  man's  eye,  teach  him  what  is  faith,— 
And  so  we  stumble  at  truth's  very  test  ? 
What  have  we  gamed  then  by  our  unbelief 
But  a  life  of  doubt  diversified  by  faith, 
For  one  of  faith  diversified  by  doubt. 
We  called  the  chess-board  white,  —  wr  call  it  black. 

"  Well,"  you  rejoin,  "  the  end 's  no  worse,  at  least, 
W<?  Ve  reason  for  both  colours  on  the  board. 


154  BISHOP  BLOUGRAM'S  APOLOGT. 

Why  not  confess,  then,  where  I  drop  the  faith 
Arid  you  the  doubt,  that  I  'm  as  right  as  you  ?" 

Because,  friend,  in  the  next  place,  this  being  so, 
And  both  things  even,  —  faith  and  unbelief 
Left  to  a  man's  choice,  —  we  '11  proceed  a  step, 

Returning  to  our  image,  which  I  like. 

* 

A  man's  choice,  yes  —  but  a  cabin-passenger's  — 
The  man  made  for  the  special  life  of  the  world  — 
Do  you  forget  him  ?     I  remember  though  ! 
Consult  our  ship's  conditions  and  you  find 
One  and  but  one  choice  suitable  to  all, 
The  choice  that  you  unluckily  prefer, 
Turning  things  topsy-turvy  —  they  or  it 
Going  to  the  ground.     Belief  or  unbelief 
Bears  upon  life,  determines  its  whole  course, 
Begins  at  its  beginning.     See  the  world 
Such  as  it  is,  —  you  made  it  not,  nor  I ; 
I  mean  to  take  it  as  it  is,  —  and  you 
Not  so  you  '11  take  it,  —  though  you  get  nought  else, 
I  know  the  special  kind. of  life  I  like, 
What  suits  the  most  my  idiosyncrasy, 
Brings  out  the  best  of  me  and  bears  me  fruit 
In  power,  peace,  pleasantness,  and  length  of  days. 
I  find  that  positive  belief  does  this 
For  me,  and  unbelief,  no  whit  of  this. 
—  For  you,  it  does,  however  —  that  we  '11  try  1 
Tis  clear,  I  cannot  lead  my  life,  at  least 


BISHOP  BLOUGRAM'S  APOLOGY.  155 

Induce  the  world  to  let  me  peaceably, 

Without  declaring  at  the  outset,  "  Friends, 

I  absolutely  and  peremptorily 

Believe  !  "  —  I  say  faith  is  my  waking  life. 

One  sleeps,  indeed,  and  dreams  at  intervals, 

We  know,  but  waking  's  the  main  point  with  us, 

And  my  provision  's  for  life's  waking  part. 

Accordingly,  I  use  heart,  head  and  hands 

All  day,  I  build,  scheme,  study  and  make  friends ; 

And  when  night  overtakes  me,  down  I  lie, 

Sleep,  dream  a  little,  and  get  done  with  it, 

The  sooner  the  better,  to  begin  afresh. 

What 's  midnight's  doubt  before  the  dayspring's  faith  ? 

Y"ou,  the  philosopher,  that  disbelieve, 

That  recognize  the  night,  give  dreams  their  weight  — 

To  be  consistent  you  should  keep  your  bed, 

Abstain  from  healthy  acts  that  prove  you  a  man, 

For  fear  you  drowse  perhaps  at  unawares  ! 

And  certainly  at  night  you  '11  sleep  and  dream, 

Live  through  the  day  and  bustle  as  you  please. 

And  so  you  live  to  sleep  as  I  to  wake, 

To  unbelieve  as  I  to  still  believe  ? 

Well,  and  the  common  sense  of  the  world  calls  you 

Bed-ridden,  —  and  its  good  things  come  to  me. 

Tts  estimation,  which  is  half  the  fight, 

That 's  the  first  cabin-comfort  I  secure  — 

The  next  .  .  .  but  you  perceive  with  half  an  eye  I 

Come,  come,  it 's  best  believing,  if  we  can  — 

f  ou  can't  but  own  that. 


156  BISHOP  BLOUGRAM'S  APOLOGY. 

Next,  concede  again  - 
If  once  we  choose  belief,  on  all  accounts 
We  can't  be  too  decisive  in  our  faith, 
Conclusive  and  exclusive  in  its  terms, 
To  suit  the  world  which  gives  us  the  good  things. 
In  every  man's  career  are  certain  points 
Whereon  he  dares  not  be  indifferent; 
The  world  detects  him  clearly,  if  he  is, 
As  baffled  at  the  game,  and  losing  life. 
He  may  care  little  or  he  may  care  much 
For  riches,  honour,  pleasure,  work,  repose, 
Since  various  theories  of  life  and  life's 
Success  are  extant  which  might  easily 
Comport  with  either  estimate  of  these, 
And  whoso  chooses  wealth  or  poverty, 
Labour  or  quiet,  is  not  judged  a  fool 
Because  his  fellows  would  choose  otherwise. 
We  let  him  choose  upon  his  own  account 
So  long  as  he 's  consistent  with  his  choice. 
But  certain  points,  left  wholly  to  himself, 
When  once  a  man  has  arbitrated  on, 
We  say  he  must  succeed  there  or  go  hang. 
Thus,  he  should  wed  the  woman  he  loves  most 
Or  needs  most,  whatsoe'er  the  love  or  need  — 
For  he  can't  wed  twice.     Then,  he  must  avouch 
Or  follow,  at  the  least,  sufficiently, 
The  form  of  faith  his  conscience  holds  the  best, 
Whate'er  the  process  of  conviction  was. 
For  nothing  can  compensate  his  mistake 


B1SIIOP   BLOUGRAM'S   APOLOGY.  157 

On  such  a  point,  the  man  himself  being  judge  — 
He  cannot  wed  twice,  nor  twice  lose  his  souL 

Well  now  —  there  's  one  great  form  of  Christian  faith 
I  happened  to  be  born  in  —  which  to  teach 
Was  given  me  as  I  grew  up,  on  all  hands, 
As  best  and  readiest  means  of  living  by  ; 
The  sama  on  examination  being  proved 
Th.e  most  pronounced  moreover,  fixed,  precise 
And  absolute  form  of  faith  in  the  whole  world  — 
Accordingly,  most  potent  of  all  forms 
For  working  on  the  world.     Observe,  my  friend, 
Such  as  you  know  me,  I  am  free  to  say, 
In  these  hard  latter  days  which  hamper  one, 
Myself,  by  no  immoderate  exercise 
Of  intellect  and  learning,  and  the  tact 
To  let  external  forces  work  for  me, 
Bid  the  street's  stones  be  bread  and  they  are  bread, 
Bid  Peter's  creed,  or,  rather,  Hildebrand's, 
Exalt  me  o'er  my  fellows  in  the  world 
And  make  my  life  an  ea.se  and  joy  and  pride, 
It  does  so,  —  which  for  me  's  a  great  point  gained, 
Who  have  a  soul  and  body  that  exact 
A  comfortable  care  hi  many  ways. 
There  's  power  in  me  and  will  to  dominate 
Which  I  must  exercise,  they  hurt  me  else  : 
In  many  ways  I  need  mankind's  respect, 
Obedience,  and  the  love  that 's  born  of  foar : 
While  at  the  same  tune,  there  's  a  taste  I  have, 


158  BISHOP  BLOUGRAM'S  APOLOGT. 

A.  toy  of  soul,  a  titillating  thing, 

Refuses  to  digest  these  dainties  crude. 

The  naked  life  is  gross  till  clothed  upon : 

I  must  take  what  men  offer,  with  a  grace 

As  though  I  would  not,  could  I  help  it,  take  ! 

An  uniform  to  wear  though  over-rich  — 

Something  imposed  on  me,  no  choice  of  mine  ; 

No  fancy-dress  worn  for  pure  fashion's  sake 

And  despicable  therefore  !  now  men  kneel 

And  kiss  my  hand  —  of  course  the  Church's  hand. 

Thus  I  am  made,  thus  life  is  best  for  me, 

And  thus  that  it  should  be  I  have  procured  ; 

And  thus  it  could  not  be  another  way, 

I  venture  to  imagine. 

You  '11  reply  — 

So  far  my  choice,  no  doubt,  is  a  success  ; 
But  were  I  made  of  better  elements, 
With  nobler  instincts,  purer  tastes,  like  you, 
I  hardly  would  account  the  thing  success 
Though  it  do  all  for  me  I  say. 

But,  friend, 

We  speak  of  what  is  —  not  of  what  might  be, 
And  how  'twere  better  if  'twere  otherwise. 
I  am  the  man  you  see  here  plain  enough  — 
Grant  I  'm  a  beast,  why  beasts  must  lead  beasts'  lives  J 
Suppose  I  own  at  once  to  tail  and  claws  — 
The  tailless  man  exceeds  me  ;  but  being  tailed 


BISHOP  BLOUGRAM'S  A.PGLOGY.  t6 

{ '11  lash  out  lion-fashion,  and  leave  apes 

To  dock  their  stump  and  dress  their  haunches  up. 

My  business  is  not  to  remake  myself 

But  make  the  absolute  best  of  what  God  made. 

Or  —  our  first  simile  —  though  you  proved  me  doomed 

To  a  viler  berth  still,  to  the  steerage-hole, 

The  sheep-pen  or  the  pig-stye,  I  should  strive 

To  make  what  use  of  each  were  possible  ; 

And  as  this  cabin  gets  upholstery, 

That  hutch  should  rustle  with  sufficient  straw. 

But,  friend,  I  don't  acknowledge  quite  so  fast 
I  fail  of  all  your  manhood's  lofty  tastes 
Enumerated  so  complacently, 
On  the  mere  ground  that  you  forsooth  can  find 
In  this  particular  life  I  choose  to  lead 
No  fit  provision  for  them.     Can  you  not  ? 
Say  you,  my  fault  is  I  address  myself 
To  grosser  estimators  than  I  need, 
And  that 's  no  way  of  holding  up  the  soul  — 
Which,  nobler,  needs  men's  praise  perhaps,  yet  knows 
One  wise  man's  verdict  outweighs  all  the  fools',  — 
Would  like  the  two,  but,  forced  to  choose,  takes  that  ? 
I  pine  among  my  million  imbeciles 
(You  think)  aware  some  dozen  men  of  sense 
Eye  me  and  know  me,  whether  I  believe 
En  the  last  winking  Virgin,  as  I  vow, 
And  am  a  fool,  or  disbelieve  in  her 
And  am  a  knave,  —  approve  in  neither  case, 


130  BISHOP  BLODGKAM'S  APOLOGY. 

Withhold  their  voices  though  I  look  their  way 

Like  Verdi  when,  at  his  worst  opera's  end 

(The  thing  they  gave  at  Florence,  —  what 's  its  name  ?) 

While  the  mad  houseful's  plaudits  near  out-bang 

His  orchestra  of  salt-box,  tongs  and  bones, 

He  looks  through  all  the  roaring  and  the  wreaths 

Where  sits  Rossini  patient  in  his  stall. 

Nay,  friend,  I  meet  you  with  an  answer  here  — 
For  even  your  prime  men  who  appraise  their  kind 
Are  men  still,  catch  a  thing  within  a  thing, 
See  more  in  a  truth  than  the  truth's  simple  self, 
Confuse  themselves.     You  see  lads  walk  the  street 
Sixty  the  minute  ;  what 's  to  note  in  that  ? 
You  see  one  lad  o'erstride  a  chimney-stack  ; 
Hun  you  must  watch  —  he 's  sure  to  fall,  yet  stands  I 
Our  interest 's  on  the  dangerous  edge  of  things. 
The  honest  thief,  the  tender  murderer, 
The  superstitious  atheist,  demireps 
That  love  and  save  their  souls  in  new  French  books  — 
We  watch  while  these  in  equilibrium  keep 
The  giddy  line  midway :  one  step  aside, 
They  're  classed  and  done  with.     I,  then,  keep  the  line 
Before  your  sages,  —  just  the  men  to  shrink 
From  the  gross  weights,  coarse  scales,  and  labels  broad 
You  ofier  their  refinement.     Fool  or  knave  ? 
Why  needs  a  bishop  be  a  fool  or  knave 
When  there 's  a  thousand  diamond  weights  between  ? 
So  I  enlist  them.     Your  picked  Twelve,  you  '11  find, 


BISHOP  BLOCGRAM'S  APOLOGY.  161 

i  rofess  themselves  indignant,  scandalized 

At  thus  being  held  unable  to  explain 

How  a  superior  man  who  disbelieves 

May  not  believe  as  well :  that  'a  Schelling's  way  ! 

It 's  through  my  coming  in  the  tail  of  time, 

Nicking  the  minute  with  a  happy  tact. 

Had  I  been  born  three  hundred  years  ago 

They  'd  say,  "  What 's  strange  ?     Blougram  of  course 

believes  ; " 

And,  seventy  years  since,  "  disbelieves  of  course." 
But  now,  "  He  may  believe  ;  and  yet,  and  yet 
How  can  he  ?  "  —  All  eyes  turn  with  interest. 
Whereas,  step  off  the  line  on  either  side  — 
You,  for  example,  clever  to  a  fault, 
The  rough  and  ready  man  that  write  apace, 
Read  somewhat  seldomer,  think  perhaps  even  less  — 
You  disbelieve  !     Who  wonders  and  who  cares  ? 
Lord  So-and-So  —  his  coat  bedropt  with  wax, 
All  Peter's  chains  about  his  waist,  his  back 
Brave  with  the  needlework  of  Noodledom, 
Believes  !     Again,  who  wonders  and  who  cares  ? 
But  I,  the  man  of  sense  and  learning  too, 
The  able  to  think  yet  act,  the  this,  the  that, 
I,  to  believe  at  this  late  tune  of  day ! 
Enough  ;  you  see,  I  need  not  fear  contempt 

—  Except  it 's  yours  !  admire  me  as  these  may, 
You  don't     But  what  at  least  do  you  admire  ? 
Present  your  own  perfections,  your  ideal, 
11 


162  BISHOP    BLOUGRAM'S   APOLOGT. 

Your  pattern  man  for  a  minute  —  oh,  make  haste  ! 
Is  it  Napoleon  you  would  have  us  grow  ? 
Concede  the  means  ;  allow  his  head  and  hand, 
(A  large  concession,  clever  as  you  are) 
Good  !  —  In  our  common  primal  element 
Of  unbelief  (we  can't  believe,  you  know  — 
We  're  still  at  that  admission,  recollect) 
Where  do  you  find  —  apart  from,  towering-o'er 
The  secondary  temporary  aims 
Which  satisfy  the  gross  tastes  you  despise  — 
Where  do  you  find  his  star  ?  —  his  crazy  trust 
God  knows  through  what  or  in  what  ?  it 's  alive 

And  shines  and  leads  him  and  that 's  all  we  want. 

• 

Have  we  aught  in  our  sober  night  shall  point 

Such  ends  as  his  were,  and  direct  the  means 

Of  working  out  our  purpose  straight  as  his, 

Nor  bring  a  moment's  trouble  on  success 

With  after-care  to  justify  the  same  ? 

—  Be  a  Napoleon  and  yet  disbelieve  ! 

Why,  the  man 's  mad,  friend,  take  his  light  away. 

What 's  the  vague  good  of  the  world  for  which  you  'd 

dare 

With  comfort  to  yourself  blow  millions  up  ? 
We  neither  of  us  see  it !  we  do  see 
The  blown-up  millions  —  spatter  of  their  brains 
And  writhing  of  their  bowels  and  so  forth, 
In  that  bewildering  entanglement 
Of  horrible  eventualities 
**ast  calculation  to  the  end  of  time  1 


BISHOP  BLOUGRAM'S  A.POLOGT.  163 

Clan  I  mistake  for  some  clear  word  of  God 

(Which  were  my  ample  warrant  for  it  all) 

His  puff  of  hazy  instincts,  idle  talk, 

•'*  The  state,  that 's  I,"  quack-nonsense  about  kings, 

And  (when  one  beats  the  man  to  his  last  hold) 

The  vague  idea  of  setting  things  to  rights, 

Policing  people  efficaciously, 

More  to  their  profit,  most  of  all  to  his  own  ; 

The  whole  to  end  that  dismallest  of  ends 

By  an  Austrian  marriage,  cant  to  us  the  church. 

And  resurrection  of  the  old  regime. 

Would  I,  who  hope  to  live  a  dozen  years, 

Fight  Austerlitz  for  reasons  such  and  such  ? 

No :  for,  concede  me  but  the  merest  chance 

Doubt  may  be  wrong  —  there  's  judgment,  life  to  come  I 

With  just  that  chance,  I  dare  not.     Doubt  proves  right  ? 

This  present  life  is  all  ?  you  offer  me 

Its  dozen  noisy  years  with  not  a  chance 

That  wedding  an  Arch-Duchess,  wearing  lace, 

And  getting  called  by  divers  new-coined  names, 

Will  drive  off  ugly  thoughts  and  let  me  dine, 

Sleep,  read  and  chat  in  quiet  as  I  like  ! 

Therefore,  I  will  not 

Take  another  case ; 
Fit  up  the  cabin  yet  another  way. 
What  say  you  to  the  poet's  ?  shall  we  write 
Hamlets,  Othellos  —  make  the  world  our  own, 
Without  a  risk  to  run  of  either  sort  ? 


164  BISHOP  BLOTJGRAM'S  APOLOGY. 

[  can't !  —  to  put  the  strongest  reason  first. 

'  But  try,"  you  urge,  "  the  trying  shall  suffice  : 

The  aim,  it*  reached  or  not,  makes  great  the  life. 

Try  to  be  Shakspeare,  leave  the  rest  to  fate  !  " 

Spare  my  self-knowledge  —  there  's  no  fooling  me  1 

If  I  prefer  remaining  my  poor  self, 

I  say  so  not  in  self-dispraise  but  praise. 

If  I  'm  a  Shakspeare,  let  the  well  alone  — 

Why  should  I  try  to  be  what  now  I  am  ? 

If  I  'm  no  Shakspeare,  as  too  probable,  — 

His  power  and  consciousness  and  self-delight 

And  all  we  want  in  common,  shall  I  find  — 

Trying  forever  ?  while  on  points  of  taste 

Wherewith,  to  speak  it  humbly,  he  and  I 

Are  dowered  alike  —  I  '11  ask  you,  I  or  he, 

Which  in  our  two  lives  realizes  most  ? 

Much,  he  imagined  —  somewhat,  I  possess. 

He  had  the  imagination  ;  stick  to  that ! 

Let  him  say  "  In  the  face  of  my  soul's  works 

Your  world  is  worthless  and  I  touch  it  not 

Lest  I  should  wrong  them  "  —  I  withdraw  my  plea 

But  does  he  say  so  ?  look  upon  his  life  ! 

Himself,  who  only  can,  gives  judgment  there. 

He  leaves  his  towers  and  gorgeous  palaces 

To  build  the  trimmest  house  in  Stratford  town ; 

Saves  money,  spends  it,  owns  the  worth  of  things, 

Siulio  Romano's  pictures,  Dowland's  lute  ; 

Enjoys  a  show,  respects  the  puppets,  too, 

And  none  more,  had  he  seen  its  entry  once, 


BISHOP  BLODGRAM'S  APOLOGY.  16i 

"  Pandulph,  of  fair  Milan  cardinal." 
Why  then  should  I  who  play  that  personage, 
The  very  Pandulph  Shakspeare's  fancy  made, 
Be  told  that  had  the  poet  chanced  to  start 
From  where  I  stand  now  (some  degree  like  mine 
Being  just  the  goal  he  ran  his  race  to  reach) 
He  would  have  run  the  whole  race  back,  forsooth, 
And  left  being  Pandulph,  to  begin  write  plays  ? 
Ah,  the  earth's  best  can  be  but  the  earth's  best ! 
Did  Shakspeare  live,  he  could  but  sit  at  home 
And  get  himself  in  dreams  the  Vatican, 
Greek  busts,  Venetian  paintings,  Roman  walls, 
And  English  books,  none  equal  to  his  own, 
Which  I  read,  bound  in  gold,  (he  never  did.) 
—  Terni  and  Naples'  bay  and  Gothard's  top  — 
Eh,  friend  ?     I  could  not  fancy  one  of  these  — 
But,  as  I  pour  this  claret,  there  they  are  — 
I've  gained  them  —  crossed  St.  Gothard  last  July 
With  ten  mules  to  the  carriage  and  a  bed 
Slung  inside  ;  is  my  hap  the  worse  for  that  ? 
We  want  the  same  things,  Shakspeare  and  myself^ 
And  what  I  want,  I  have  :  he,  gifted  more, 
Could  fancy  he  too  had  it  when  he  liked, 
But  not  so  thoroughly  that  if  fate  allowed 
tie  would  not  have  it  also  in  my  sense. 
We  play  one  game.     I  send  the  ball  aloft 
No  less  adroitly  that  of  fifty  strokes 
Scarce  five  go  o'er  the  wall  so  wide  and  high 
Wliich  sends  them  back  to  me :  I  wish  and  get. 


166  BISHOP  BLOUGRAM'S  APOLOGT. 

He  struck  balls  higher  and  with  better  skill, 
But  at  a  poor  fence  level  with  his  head, 
And  hit  —  his  Stratford  house,  a  coat  of  arms, 
Successful  dealings  in  his  grain  and  wool, — 
While  I  receive  heaven's  incense  in  my  nose 
And  style  myself  the  cousin  of  Queen  Bess. 
Ask  him,  if  this  life  's  all,  who  wins  the  game  ? 

Believe  —  and  our  whole  argument  breaks  up. 

Enthusiasm 's  the  best  thing,  I  repeat ; 

Only,  we  can't  command  it ;  fire  and  life 

Are  all,  dead  matter  's  nothing,  we  agree  : 

And  be  it  a  mad  dream  or  God's  very  breath, 

The  fact  's  the  same,  —  belief's  fire  once  in  us, 

Makes  of  all  else  mere  stuff  to  show  itself. 

We  penetrate  our  life  with  such  a  glow 

As  fire  lends  wood  and  iron  —  this  turns  steel, 

That  burns  to  ash  —  all 's  one,  fire  proves  its  powei 

For  good  or  ill,  since  men  call  flare  success. 

But  paint  a  fire,  it  will  not  therefore  burn. 

Light  one  in  me,  I  '11  find  it  food  enough  ! 

Why,  to  be  Luther  —  that 's  a  life  to  lead, 

Incomparably  better  than  my  own. 

He  comes,  reclaims  God's  earth  for  God,  he  says, 

Sets  up  God's  rule  again  by  simple  means, 

Re-opens  a  shut  book,  and  all  is  done. 

He  flared  out  in  the  flaring  of  mankind  ; 

Such  Luther's  luck  was  —  how  shall  such  be  mine  ? 

If  he  succeeded,  nothing  's  left  to  do  • 


BISHOP   BLOUGRAM'S   APOLOGY.  167 

AJH!  if  he  did  not  altogether  —  well, 

Strauss  is  the  next  advance.     All  Strauss  should  be 

[  might  be  also.     But  to  what  result  ? 

He  looks  upon  no  future  :  Luther  did. 

What  can  I  gain  on  the  denying  side  ? 

Ice  makes  no  conflagration.     State  the  facts, 

Read  the  text  right,  emancipate  the  world  — 

The  emancipated  world  enjoys  itself 

With  scarce  a  thank-you  —  Blougram  told  it  first 

It  could  not  owe  a  farthing,  —  not  to  him 

More  than  St.  Paul !  'twould  press  its  pay,  you  think 

Then  add  there  's  still  that  plaguey  hundredth  chance 

Strauss  may  be  wrong.     And  so  a  risk  is  run  — 

For  what  gain  ?  not  for  Luther's,  who  secured 

A  real  heaven  in  his  heart  throughout  his  life, 

Supposing  death  a  little  altered  things  ! 

"Ay,  but  since  really  I  lack  faith,"  you  cry, 
u  I  run  the  same  risk  really  on  all  sides, 
In  cool  indifference  as  bold  unbelief. 
As  well  be  Strauss  as  swing  'twixt  Faul  and  him. 
It 's  not  worth  having,  such  imperfect  faith, 
Nor  more  available  to  do  faith's  work 
Than  unbelief  like  yours.     Whole  faith,  or  none  1 " 

Softly,  my  friend  !  I  must  dispute  that  point. 
Once  own  the  use  of  faith,  I  '11  find  you  faith- 
We  're  back  on  Christian  ground.     You  call  for  faith : 
I  show  you  doubt,  to  prove  that  faith  exists. 


168  BISHOP  BLOUGRAM'S  APOLOGY. 

!The  more  of  doubt,  the  stronger  faith,  I  say, 

If  faith  o'ercomes  doubt.     How  I  know  it  does  ? 

By  life  and  man's  free  will,  God  gave  for  that ! 

To  mould  life  as  we  choose  it,  shows  our  choice : 

That 's  our  one  act,  the  previous  work  's  His  own. 

Y"ou  criticize  the  soil  ?  it  reared  this  tree  — 

This  broad  life  and  whatever  fruit  it  bears  ! 

What  matter  though  I  doubt  at  every  pore, 

Head-doubts,  heart-doubts,  doubts  at  my  fingers'  ends, 

Doubts  in  the  trivial  work  of  every  day, 

Doubts-  at  the  very  bases  of  my  soul 

In  the  grand  moments  when  she  probes  herself — 

If  finally  I  have  a  life  to  show, 

The  thing  I  did,  brought  out  in  evidence 

Against  the  thing  done  to  me  underground 

By  Hell  and  all  its  brood,  for  aught  I  know  ? 

I  say,  whence  sprang  this  ?  shows  it  faith  or  doubt  ? 

All's  doubt  in  me  ;  where 's  break  of  faith  in  this  ? 

It  is  the  idea,  the  feeling  and  the  love 

God  means  mankind  should  strive  for  and  show  forth, 

Whatever  be  the  process  to  that  end, — 

4ind  not  historic  knowledge,  logic  sound, 

And  metaphysical  acumen,  sure  ! 

'  What  think  ye  of  Christ,"  friend  ?  when  all 's  done 

and  said, 

You  like  this  Christianity  or  not  ? 
It  may  be  false,  but  will  you  wish  it  true  ? 
Has  it  your  vote  to  be  so  if  it  can  ? 
Tru?t  you  an  instinct  silenced  long  ago 


BISHOP    BLOUGRAM'S    APOLOGT.  IGi 

lliat  will  break  silence  and  enjoin  you  love 

What  mortified  philosophy  is  hoarse, 

Ai.d  all  in  vain,  with  bidding  you  despise?. 

If  you  desire  faith  —  then  you  've  faith  enough. 

What  else  seeks  God  —  nay,  what  else  seek  ourselves  ? 

You  form  a  notion  of  me,  we  '11  suppose, 

On  hearsay  ;  it 's  a  favourable  one : 

"  But  still,"  (you  add,)  "  there  was  no  such  good  man, 

Because  of  contradictions  in  the  facts. 

One  proves,  for  instance,  he  was  born  in  Rome, 

This  Blougram  —  yet  throughout  the  tales  of  him 

I  see  he  figures  as  an  Englishman." 

Well,  the  two  things  are  reconcilable 

But  would  I  rather  you  discovered  that, 

Subjoining  —  "  Still,  what  matter  though  they  be  ? 

Blougram  concerns  me  nought,  born  here  or  there." 

Pure  faith  indeed  —  you  know  not  what  you  ask  I 
Naked  belief  in  God  the  Omnipotent, 
Omniscient,  Omnipresent,  sears  too  much 
The  sense  of  conscious  creatures  to  be  borne. 
It  were  the  seeing  him,  no  flesh  shall  dare. 
Some  think,  Creation 's  meant  to  show  him  forth : 
I  say,  it 's  meant  to  hide  him  all  it  can, 
And  that 's  what  all  the  blessed  Evil 's  for. 
Its  use  in  time  is  to  environ  us, 
Our  breath,  our  drop  of  dew,  with  shield  enough 
Against  that  sight  till  we  can  bear  its  stress. 
Urder  a  vertical  sun,  tie  exposed  brain 


170  BISHOP  BLOUGRAM'S  APOLOGY. 

And  lidless  eye  and  disimprisoned  heart 
Less  certainly  would  wither  up  at  once 
Than  mind,  eonfronted  with  the  truth  of  Him. 
But  time  and  earth  case-harden  us  to  live  ; 
The  feeblest  sense  is  trusted  most ;  the  child 
Feels  God  a  moment,  ichors  o'er  the  place, 
Plays  on  and  grows  to  be  a  man  like  us. 
With  me,  faith  means  perpetual  unbelief 
Kept  quiet  like  the  snake  'neath  Michael's  foot 
Who  stands  calm  just  because  he  feels  it  writhe. 
Or,  if  that 's  too  ambitious,  —  here 's  my  box  — 
I  need  the  excitation  of  a  pinch 
Threatening  the  torpor  of  the  inside-nose 
Nigh  on  the  imminent  sneeze  that  never  comes. 
''  Leave  it  in  peace  "  advise  the  simple  folk  — 
Make  it  aware  of  peace  by  itching-fits, 
Say  I  —  let  doubt  occasion  still  more  faith  ! 

You  '11  say,  once  all  believed,  man,  woman,  child, 
In  that  dear  middle-age  these  noodles  praise. 
How  you  'd  exult  if  I  could  put  you  back 
Six  hundred  years,  blot  out  cosmogony, 
Geology,  ethnology,  what  not, 
(Greek  endings  with  the  little  passing-bell 
That  signifies  some  faith  's  about  to  die) 
And  set  you  square  with  Genesis  again,  — 
When  sufh  a  traveller  told  you  his  last  news, 
He  saw  the  ark  a-top  of  Ararat 
But  did  not  climb  there  since  'twas  getting  dusk 


BISHOP  SLOUGRAM'S  APOLOGY.  171 

And  robber-bands  infest  the  mountain's  foot ! 
How  should  you  feel,  I  ask,  hi  such  an  age, 
How  act  ?     As  other  people  felt  and  did  ; 
With  soul  more  blank  than  this  decanter's  knob, 
Believe  —  and  yet  lie,  kill,  rob,  fornicate 
Full  hi  beliefs  face,  like  the  beast  you  'd  be ! 

No,  when  the  fight  begins  within  himself, 
A  man  's  worth  something.     God  stoops  o'er  his  head, 
Satan  looks  up  between  his  feet  —  both  tug  — 
He  's  left,  himself,  in  the  middle  :  the  soul  wakes 
And  grows.     Prolong  that  battle  through  his  life  ! 
Never  leave  growing  till  the  life  to  come  ! 
Here,  we  Ve  got  callous  to  the  Virgin's  winks 
That  used  to  puzzle  people  wholesomely  — 
Men  have  outgrown  the  shame  of  being  fools. 
What  are  the  laws  of  Nature  not  to  bend 
If  the  Church  bid  them,  brother  Newman  asks. 
Up  with  the  Immaculate  Conception,  then  — 
On  to  the  rack  with  faith  —  is  my  advice  ! 
Will  not  that  hurry  us  upon  our  knees 
Knocking  our  breasts,  "  It  can't  be  —  yet  it  shall  I 
Who  am  I,  the  worm,  to  argue  with  my  Pope  ? 
Low  things  confound  the  high  things  !  "  and  so  forthi 
That 's  better  than  acquitting  God  with  grace  - 
As  some  folks  do.     He  's  tried  —  no  case  is  proved, 
Philosophy  is  lenient  —  He  may  go  ! 

You  '11  say  —  the  old  system 's  not  so  obsolete 


L72  BISHOP  BLOUGRAM'S  APOLOGY. 

But  men  believe  still :  ay,  but  who  and  where  ? 

King  Bomba's  lazzaroni  foster  yet 

The  sacred  flame,  so  Antonelli  writes  ; 

But  even  of  these,  what  ragamuffin-saint 

Believes  God  watches  him  continually, 

As  he  believes  in  fire  that  it  will  burn, 

Or  rain  that  it  will  drench  him  ?     Break  fire's  law, 

Sin  against  rain,  although  the  penalty 

Be  just  a  singe  or  soaking  ?     No,  he  smiles  ; 

Those  laws  are  laws  that  can  enforce  themselves. 

The  sum  of  all  is  —  yes,  my  doubt  is  great, 
My  faith  's  the  greater  —  then  my  faith 's  enough. 
I  have  read  much,  thought  much,  experienced  much, 
Yet  would  die  rather  than  avow  my  fear 
The  Naples'  liquefaction  may  be  false, 
When  set  to  happen  by  the  palace-clock 
According  to  the  clouds  or  dinner-time. 
I  hear  you  recommend,  I  might  at  least 
Eliminate,  decrassify  my  faith 
Since  I  adopt  it ;  keeping  what  I  must 
And  leaving  what  I  can  —  such  points  as  this  ! 
I  won't  —  that  is,  I  can't  throw  one  away. 
Supposing  there  's  no  truth  in  what  I  said 
About  the  need  of  trials  to  man's  faith, 
Still,  when  you  bid  me  purify  the  same, 
To  such  a  process  I  discern  no  end, 
Cleai-ing  off  one  excrescence  to  see  two  ; 
There  's  ever  a  next  in  size,  now  grown  as  big, 


BISHOP    BLOLTGRAM'S    APOLOGY.  173 

fhat  meets  the  knife  —  I  cut  and  cut  again  ! 
First  cut  the  Liquefaction,  what  comes  last 
But  Fichte's  clever  cut  at  God  himself? 
Experimentalize  on  sacred  things  : 
I  trust  nor  hand  nor  eye  nor  heart  nor  brain 
To  stop  betimes  :  they  all  get  drunk  alike. 
The  first  step,  I  am  master  not  to  take. 

You  'd  find  the  cutting-process  to  your  taste 
As  much  as  leaving  growths  of  lies  unpruned, 
Nor  see  more  danger  in  it,  you  retort. 
Your  taste 's  worth  mine  ;  but  my  taste  proves  more  wise 
When  we  consider  that  the  steadfast  hold 
On  the  extreme  end  of  the  chain  of  faith 
Gives  all  the  advantage,  makes  the  difference, 
With  the  rough  purblind  mass  we  seek  to  rule. 
We  are  their  lords,  or  they  are  free  of  us 
Just  as  we  tighten  or  relax  that  hold. 
So,  other  matters  equal,  we  '11  revert 
To  the  first  problem  —  which  if  solved  my  way 
And  thrown  into  the  balance  turns  the  scale  — 
How  we  may  lead  a  comfortable  life, 
How  suit  our  luggage  to  the  cabin's  size. 

Of  course  you  are  remarking  all  this  time 
How  narrowly  and  grossly  I  view  life, 
Respect  the  creature-comforts,  care  to  rule 
The  masses,  and  regard  complacently 

The  cabin,"  in  our  old  phrase  !     Well,  I  do. 


174  BISHOP   BLODGRAM*S    APOLOGY. 

I  act  for,  talk  for,  live  for  this  world  now, 
As  this  world  calls  for  action,  life  and  talk  — 
No  prejudice  to  what  next  world  may  prove,  * 
Whose  new  laws  and  requirements  my  best  pledge 
To  observe  then,  is  that  I  observe  these  now, 
Doing  hereafter  what  I  do  meanwhile. 
Let  us  concede  (gratuitously  though) 
Next  life  relieves  the  soul  of  body,  yields 
Pure  spiritual  enjoyments  :  well,  my  friend, 
Why  lose  this  life  in  the  mean  tune,  since  its  use 
May  be  to  make  the  next  life  more  intense  ? 

Do  you  know,  I  have  often  had  a  dream 
(Work  it  up  in  your  next  month's  article) 
Of  man's  poor  spirit  in  its  progress  still 
Losing  true  life  forever  and  a  day 
Through  ever  trying  to  be  and  ever  being 
[n  the  evolution  of  successive  spheres, 
Before  its  actual  sphere  and  place  of  life, 
Half-way  into  the  next,  which  having  reached, 
It  shoots  with  corresponding  foolery 
Half- way  into  the  next  still,  on  and  off! 
As  when  a  traveller,  bound  from  north  to  south, 
Scouts  fur  hi  Russia  —  what 's  its  use  in  France  ? 
In  France  spurns  flannel  —  where 's  its  need  in  Spain  ? 
In  Spain  drops  cloth  —  too  cumbrous  for  Algiers  ! 
Linen  goes  next,  and  last  the  skin  itself, 
A  superfluity  at  Timbuctoo. 
When,  through  his  journey,  was  the  fool  at  ease  ? 


BISHOP  BLOUGUAM'S  APOLOGY.  175 

I  'm  at  ease  now,  friend  —  worldly  in  this  world 

I  take  and  like  its  way  of  life  ;  I  think 

My  brothers  who  administer  the  means 

Live  better  for  my  comfort  —  that 's  good  too  ; 

And  God,  if  he  pronounce  upon  it  all, 

Approves  my  service,  which  is  better  still. 

If  He  keep  silence,  —  why  for  you  or  me 

Or  that  brute-beast  pulled-up  in  to-day's  "  Times," 

What  odds  is 't,  save  to  ourselves,  what  life  we  lead  ? 

You  meet  me  at  this  issue  —  you  declare, 
All  special-pleading  done  with,  truth  is  truth, 
And  justifies  itself  by  undreamed  ways. 
You  don't  fear  but  it 's  oetter,  if  we  doubt, 
To  say  so,  acting  up  to  our  truth  perceived 
However  feebly.     Do  then,  —  act  away  ! 
'Tis  there  I  'm  on  the  watch  for  you  !     How  one  acts 
Is,  both  of  us  agree,  our  chief  concern  : 
And  how  you  '11  act  is  what  I  fain  would  see 
If,  like  the  candid  person  you  appear, 
You  dare  to  make  the  most  of  your  life's  scheme 
As  I  of  mine,  live  up  to  its  full  law 
Since  there '»  no  higher  law  that  counterchecks. 
Put  natural  religion  to  the  test 
You  Ye  just  demolished  the  revealed  with  —  quick, 
Down  tc  the  root  of  all  that  checks  your  will, 
All  prohibition  to  lie,  kill,  and  thieve 
Or  even  to  be  an  atheistic  priest ! 
Suppose  a  pricking  to  incontinence  — 


176  BISHOP  BLOUGRAM'S  APOLOGY. 

Philosophers  deduce  you  chastity 

Or  shame,  from  just  the  fact  that  at  the  first 

Whoso  embraced  a  woman  in  the  plain, 

Threw  club  down,  and  forewent  his  brains  beside, 

So  stood  a  ready  victim  in  the  reach 

Of  any  brother-savage  club  in  hand  — 

Hence  saw  the  use  of  going  out  of  sight 

In  wood  or  cave  to  prosecute  his  loves  — 

I  read  this  in  a  French  book  t'other  day. 

Does  law  so  analyzed  coerce  you  much  ? 

Oh,  men  spin  clouds  of  fuzz  where  matters  end, 

But  you  who  reach  where  the  first  thread  begins, 

You  '11  soon  cut  that !  —  which  means  you  can,  but  won'f 

Through  certain  instincts,  blind,  unreasoned-out, 

You  dare  not  set  aside,  you  can't  tell  why, 

But  there  they  are,  and  so  you  let  them  rule. 

Then,  friend,  you  seem  as  much  a  slave  as  I, 

A  liar,  conscious  coward  and  hypocrite, 

Without  the  good  the  slave  expects  to  get, 

Suppose  he  has  a  master  after  all ! 

You  own  your  instincts  —  why  what  else  do  I, 

Who  want,  am  made  for,  and  must  have  a  God 

lire  I  can  be,  aught,  do  aught  ? —  no  mere  «ame 

Want,  but  the  true  thing  with  what  proves  its  truth, 

To  wit,  a  relation  from  that  thing  to  me, 

Touching  from  head  to  foot  —  which  touch  I  feel, 

And  with  it  take  the  rest,  this  life  of  ours  ! 

I  live  my  life  here  ;  yours  you  dare  not  live. 

Not  as  I  state  it,  who  (you  please  subjoin) 


BISHOP  BLOUGRAM'S  APOLOGT.  177 

Disfigure  such  a  life  and  call  it  names, 
While,  in  your  mind,  remains  another  way 
For  simple  men  :  knowledge  and  power  have  rights, 
But  ignorance  and  weakness  have  rights  too. 
There  needs  no  crucial  effort  to  find  truth 
If  here  or  there  or  anywhere  about  — 
We  ought  to  turn  each  side,  try  hard  and  see, 
And  if  we  can't,  be  glad  we  've  earned  at  least 
The  right,  by  one  laborious  proof  the  more, 
To  graze  in  peace  earth's  pleasant  pasturage. 
Men  are  not  gods,  but,  properly,  are  brutes. 
Something  we  may  see,  all  we  cannot  see  — 
What  need  of  lying  ?  I  say,  I  see  all, 
And  swear  to  each  detail  the  most  minute 
In  what  I  think  a  man's  face  —  you,  mere  cloud : 
I  swear  I  hear  him  speak  and  see  him  wink, 
For  fear,  if  once  I  drop  the  emphasis, 
Mankind  may  doubt  if  there  's  a  cloud  at  alL 
You  take  the  simpler  life  —  ready  to  see, 
Willing  to  see  —  for  no  cloud 's  worth  a  face  — 
And  leaving  quiet  what  no  strength  can  move, 
And  which,  who  bids  you  move  ?  who  has  the  right  ? 
I  bid  you  ;  but  you  are  God's  sheep,  not  mine  — 
u  Pastor  est  tui  Dominus."     You  find 
In  these  the  pleasant  pastures  of  this  life 
Much  you  may  eat  without  the  least  offence,  . 

Much  you  don't  eat  because  your  maw  objects, 
Much  you  would  eat  but  that  your  fellow-flock 
Open  great  eyes  at  you  and  even  butt, 
12 


178  BISHOP  BLOUGRAM'S  APOLOGY. 

And  thereupon  you  like  your  friends  so  much 
You  cannot  please  yourself,  offending  them  — 
Though  when  they  seem  exorbitantly  sheep, 
You  weigh  your  pleasure  with  their  butts  and  kicks 
And  strike  the  balance.     Sometimes  certain  fears 
Restrain  you  —  real  checks  since  you  find  them  so  — 
Sometimes  you  please  yourself  and  nothing  checks  ; 
And  thus  you  graze  through  life  with  not  one  lie, 
And  like  it  best. 

But  do  you,  in  truth's  name  ? 
If  so,  you  beat  —  which  means  — you  are  not  I  — 
Who  needs  must  make  earth  mine  and  feed  my  fill 
Not  simply  unbutted  at,  unbickered  with, 
But  motioned  to  the  velvet  of  the  sward 
By  those  obsequious  whethers'  very  selves. 
Look  at  me,  sir  ;  my  age  is  double  yours. 
At  yours,  I  knew  beforehand,  so  enjoyed, 
What  now  I  should  be  —  as,  permit  the  word, 
I  pretty  well  imagine  your  whole  range 
And  stretch  of  tether  twenty  years  to  come. 
We  both  have  minds  and  bodies  much  alike. 
In  truth's  name,  don't  you  want  my  bishopric, 
My  daily  bread,  my  influence  and  my  state  ? 
You  're  young,  I  'm  old,  you  must  be  old  one  day  ; 
Will  you  find  then,  as  I  do  hour  by  hour, 
Women  their  lovers  kneel  to,  that  cut  curls 
From  your  fat  lapdog's  ears  to  grace  a  brooch  — 
Dukes,  that  petition  just  to  kiss  your  ring  — 


BISHOP  BLOUGRAM'S  APOLOGY.  178 

With  much  beside  you  know  or  may  conceive  ? 

Suppose  we  die  to-night :  well,  here  am  I, 

Such  were  my  gains,  life  bore  this  fruit  to  me. 

While  writing  all  the  same  my  articles 

On  music,  poetry,  the  fictile  vase 

Found  at  Albano,  or  Anacreon's  Greek. 

.But  you  —  the  highest  honour  hi  your  life, 

The  thing  you  '11  crown  yourself  with,  all  your  days, 

Is  —  dining  here  and  drinking  this  last  glass 

I  pour  you  out  in  sign  of  amity 

Before  we  part  ftrsver.     Of  your  power 

And  social  influence,  worldly  worth  in  short, 

Judge  what 's  my  estimation  by  the  fact  — 

I  do  not  condescend  to  enjoin,  beseech, 

Hint  secrecy  on  one  of  all  these  words  ! 

You  're  shrewd  and  know  that  should  you  publish  it 

The  world  would  brand  the  lie  —  my  enemies  first, 

"  Who  'd  sneer  —  the  bishop  's  an  arch-hypocrite, 

And  knave  perhaps,  but  not  so  frank  a  fool." 

Whereas  I  should  not  dare  for  both  my  ears 

Breathe  one  such  syllable,  smile  one  such  smile, 

Before  my  chaplain  who  reflects  myself — 

My  shade  's  so  much  more  potent  than  your  flesh. 

What 's  your  reward,  self-abnegating  friend  ? 

Stood  you  confessed  of  those  exceptiona1 

And  privileged  great  natures  that  dwarf  mine  — 

A  zealot  with  a  mad  ideal  in  reach, 

A  poet  just  about  to  print  his  ode, 

A.  statesman  with  a  scheme  to  stop  this  war, 


180  BISHOP  BLOUGUAM'S  APOLOGY". 

An  artist  whose  religion  is  his  art, 
I  should  have  nothing  to  object !  such  men 
Carry  the  fire,  all  things  grow  warm  to  them, 
Their  drugget 's  worth  my  purple,  they  beat  me. 
But  you,  —  you  're  just  as  little  those  as  I  — 
You,  Gigadibs,  who,  tliirty  years  of  age, 
Write  statedly  for  Blackwood's  Magazine, 
Believe  you  see  two  points  in  Hamlet's  soul 
Unseized  by  the  Germans  yet — which  view  you'll  print- 
Meantime  the  best  you  have  to  show  being  still 
That  lively  lightsome  article  we  took 
Almost  for  the  true  Dickens,  —  what 's  the  name  ? 
"  The  Slum  and  Cellar  —  or  Whitechapel  life 
Limned  after  dark  !  "  it  made  me  laugh,  I  know, 
And  pleased  a  month  and  brought  you  in  ten  pounds 
—  Success  I  recognize  and  compliment, 
And  therefore  give  you,  if  you  please,  three  words 
(The  card  and  pencil-scratch  is  quite  enough) 
Which  whether  here,  in  Dublin,  or  New  York, 
Will  get  you,  prompt  as  at  my  eyebrow's  wink, 
Such  terms  as  never  you  aspired  to  get 
In  all  our  own  reviews  and  some  not  ours. 
Go  write  your  lively  sketches  —  be  the  first 
"  Blougram,  or  The  Eccentric  Confidence  "  — 
Or  better  simply  say,  "  The  Outward-bound." 
Why,  men  as  soon  would  throw  it  in  my  teeth 
As  copy  and  quote  the  infamy  chalked  broad 
About  me  on  the  church-door  opposite. 
\Tou  will  not  wait  for  that  experience  though, 


BISHOP  BLOUGRAM'S  APOLOGY.  18j 

I  fancy,  howsoever  you  decide, 
To  discontinue  —  not  detesting,  not 
Defaming,  but  at  least  —  despising  me  ! 


Over  his  wine  so  smiled  and  talked  his  hour 
Sylvester  Blougram,  styled  in  partibus 
Episcopus,  nee  non  —  (the  deuce  knows  what 
It's  changed  to  by  our  novel  hierarchy) 
With  Gigadibs  the  literary  man, 
Who  played  with  spoons,  explored  his  plate's  design 
And  ranged  the  olive  stones  about  its  edge, 
While  the  great  bishop  rolled  him  out  his  mind. 

For  Blougram,  he  believed,  say,  half  he  spoke. 
The  other  portion,  as  he  shaped  it  thus 
For  argumentatory  purposes, 
He  felt  his  foe  was  foolish  to  dispute. 
Some  arbitrary  accidental  thoughts 
That  crossed  his  mind,  amusing  because  new. 
He  chose  to  represent  as  fixtures  there. 
Invariable  convictions  (such  they  seemed 
Beside  his  interlocutor's  loose  cards 
Flung  daily  down,  and  not  the  same  way  twice) 
While  certain  hell-deep  instincts,  man's  weak  tongu 
Is  never  bold  to  utter  in  their  truth 
Because  styled  hell-deep  (it  is  an  old  mistake 
To  place  hell  at  the  bottom  of  the  earth) 
He  ignored  tnese,  —  not  having  in  readiness 


182  BISHOP  BLODGRAM'S  APOLOGT. 

Their  nomenclature  and  philosophy  : 

He  said  true  things,  but  called  them  by  wrong  names. 

"  On  the  whole,"  he  thought,  "  I  justify  myself 

On  every  point  where  cavillers  like  this 

Oppugn  my  life  :  he  tries  one  kind  of  fence  — 

I  close  —  he 's  worsted,  that 's  enough  for  him ; 

He 's  on  the  ground !  if  the  ground  should  break  away 

I  take  my  stand  on,  there  's  a  firmer  yet 

Beneath  it,  both  of  us  may  sink  and  reach. 

His  ground  was  over  mine  and  broke  the  first. 

So  let  him  sit  with  me  this  many  a  year  !  " 

He  did  not  sit  five  minutes.     Just  a  "week 
Sufficed  his  sudden  healthy  vehemence. 
(Something  had  struck  him  in  the  "  Outward-bound  " 
Another  way  than  Blougram's  purpose  was) 
And  having  bought,  not  cabin-furniture 
But  settler's-implements  (enough  for  three) 
And  started  for  Australia  —  there,  I  hope, 
By  this  tune  he  has  tested  his  first  plough, 
studied  his  last  chapter  of  St.  John. 


MEMORABILIA. 

1. 

AH,  did  you  once  see  Shelley  plain, 
And  did  he  stop  and  speak  to  yoa  F 

And  did  you  speak  to  him  again  ? 
How  strange  it  seems,  and  new  1 

2. 

But  you  were  living  before  that, 

And  you  are  living  after, 
And  the  memory  I  started  at  — 

My  starting  moves  your  laughter ! 

3. 

I  crossed  a  moor  with  a  name  of  its  own 
And  a  use  in  the  world  no  doubt, 

TTet  a  hand's-breadth  of  it  shines  alone 
'Mid  the  blank  miles  round  about  — 

4. 

For  there  I  picked  up  on  the  heather 

And  there  I  put  inside  my  breast 
A  moulted  feather,  an  eagle-feather  — 
Well,  I  forget  the  rest. 


ANDREA  DEL  SARTO. 

"THE  FAULTLESS  PAINTEB.'') 


BUT  do  not  let  us  quarrel  any  more, 
No,  my  Lucrezia  ;  bear  with  me  for  once  : 
Sit  down  and  all  shall  happen  as  you  wish. 
You  turn  your  face,  but  does  it  bring  your  heart  ? 
1  '11  work  then  for  your  friend's  friend,  never  fear, 
Treat  his  own  subject  after  his  own  way, 
Fix  his  own  time,  accept  too  his  own  price, 
And  shut  the  money  into  this  small  hand 
When  next  it  takes  mine.     Will  it  ?  tenderly  ? 
Oh,  I  '11  content  him,  —  but  to-morrow,  Love  ! 
I  often  am  much  wearier  than  you  think, 
This  evening  more  than  usual,  and  it  seems 
As  if  —  forgive  now  —  should  you  let  me  sit 
Here  by  the  window  with  your  hand  in  mine 
And  look  a  half  hour  forth  on  Fiesole, 
Both  of  one  mind,  as  married  people  use, 
Quietly,  quietly,  the  evening  through, 
I  might  get  up  to-morrow  to  my  work 
Cheerful  and  fresh  as  ever.     Let  us  try. 
To-morrow  how  you  shall  be  glad  for  this  ! 


ANDREA    DEL    SARTO.  185 

Tour  soft  hand  is  a  woman  of  itself, 
And  mine  the  man's  bared  breast  she  curls  inside. 
Don't  count  the  time  lost,  either ;  you  must  serve 
For  each  of  the  five  pictures  we  require  — 
It  saves  a  model.     So  !  keep  looking  so  — 
My  serpentining  beauty,  rounds  on  rounds  ! 

—  How  could  you  ever  prick  those  perfect  ears, 
Even  to  put  the  pearl  there  !  oh,  so  sweet  — 
My  face,  my  moon,  my  everybody's  moon, 
Which  everybody  looks  on  and  calls  his, 

And,  I  suppose,  is  looked  on  by  in  turn, 
While  she  looks  —  no  one's  :  very  dear,  no  less  ! 
You  smile  ?  why,  there  's  my  picture  ready  made. 
There  's  what  we  painters  call  our  harmony  ! 
A  common  grayness  silvers  every  thing,  — 
All  in  a  twilight,  you  and  I  alike 

—  You,  at  the  point  of  your  first  pride  in  me 
(That 's  gone  you  know,)  —  but  I,  at  every  point ; 
My  youth,  my  hope,  my  art,  being  all  toned  down 
To  yonder  sober  pleasant  Fiesole. 

There  's  the  bell  clinking  from  the  chapel-top  ; 
That  length  of  convent-wall  across  the  way 
Holds  the  trees  safer,  huddled  more  inside  ; 
The  last  monk  leaves  the  garden  ;  days  decrease 
And  autumn  grows,  autumn  in  every  thing. 
Eh  ?  the  whole  seems  to  fall  into  a  shape 
As  if  I  saw  alike  my  work  and  self 
And  all  that  I  was  born  to  be  and  do, 
A  twilight-piece.     Love,  we  are  in  God's  hand. 


186  ANDREA    DEL    SARTO. 

How  strange  now,  looks  the  life  he  makes  us  lead  t 

So  free  we  seem,  so  fettered  fast  we  are : 

I  feel  he  laid  the  fetter  :  let  it  lie  ! 

This  chamber  for  example  —  turn  your  head  — 

All  that 's  behind  us  !  you  don't  understand 

Nor  care  to  understand  about  my  art, 

But  you  can  hear  at  least  when  people  speak ; 

And  that  cartoon,  the  second  from  the  door 

—  It  is  the  thing,  Love  !  so  such  things  should  be  — 
Behold  Madonna,  I  am  bold  to  say. 

I  can  do  with  my  pencil  what  I  know, 

What  I  see,  what  at  bottom  of  my  heart 

I  wish  for,  if  I  ever  wish  so  deep  — 

Do  easily,  too  —  when  I  say  perfectly 

I  do  not  boast,  perhaps  :  yourself  are  judge 

Who  listened  to  the  Legate's  talk  last  week, 

And  just  as  much  they  used  to  say  in  France. 

At  any  rate  'tis  easy,  all  of  it, 

No  sketches  first,  no  studies,  that 's  long  past  — 

I  do  what  many  dream  of  all  their  lives 

—  Dream  ?  strive  to  do,  and  agonize  to  do, 
And  fail  in  doing.     I  could  count  twenty  such 
On  twice  your  fingers,  and  not  leave  this  town, 
Who  strive  —  you  don't  know  how  the  others  strive 
To  paint  a  little  thing  like  that  you  smeared 
Carelessly  passing  with  your  robes  afloat, 

Y"et  do  much  less,  so  much  less,  some  one  says, 
(I  know  his  name,  no  matter)  so  much  less  ! 
Well,  less  is  more,  Lucrezia !  I  am  judged. 


ANDREA    DEL    SAHTO.  L$'< 

There  burns  a  truer  light  of  God  in  them, 

In  their  vexed,  beating,  stuffed  and  stopped-up  brain, 

Heart,  or  whate'er  else,  than  goes  on  to  prompt 

This  low-pulsed  forthright  craftsman's  hand  of  mine. 

Their  works  drop  groundward,  but  themselves,  I  know, 

Reach  many  a  time  a  heaven  that 's  shut  to  me, 

Enter  and  take  their  place  there  sure  enough, 

Though  they  come  back  and  cannot  tell  the  world. 

My  works  are  nearer  heaven,  but  I  sit  here. 

The  sudden  blood  of  these  men  !  at  a  word  — 

Praise  them,  it  boils,  or  blame  them,  it  boils  too. 

I,  painting  from  myself  and  to  myself, 

Know  what  I  do,  am  unmoved  by  men's  blame 

Or  their  praise  either.     Somebody  remarks 

Morello's  outline  there  is  wrongly  traced, 

His  hue  mistaken  —  what  of  that  ?  or  else, 

Rightly  traced  and  well  ordered  —  what  of  that  ? 

Ah,  but  a  man's  reach  should  exceed  his  grasp, 

Or  what 's  a  Heaven  for  ?  all  is  silver-gray 

Placid  and  perfect  with  my  art  —  the  worse  ! 

I  know  both  what  I  want  and  what  might  gain  — 

And  yet  how  profitless  to  know,  to  sigh 

"  Had  I  been  two,  another  and  myself, 

Our  head  would  have  o'erlooked  the  world  ! "          No 

doubt. 

Yonder 's  a  work,  now,  of  that  famous  youth 
The  Urbinate  who  died  five  years  ago. 
('Tis  copied,  George  Vasari  sent  it  me.) 
Well,  I  can  fancy  how  he  iid  it  all. 


188  ANDREA    DEL,    SARTO. 

Pouring  his  soul,  with  kings  and  popes  to  see, 
Reaching,  that  Heaven  might  so  replenish  him, 
Above  and  through  his  art  —  for  it  gives  way  ; 
That  arm  is  wrongly  put  —  and  there  again  — 
A  fault  to  pardon  in  the  drawing's  lines, 
Its  body,  so  to  speak !  its  soul  is  right, 
He  means  right —  that,  a  child  may  understand. 
Still,  what  an  arm  !  and  I  could  alter  it. 
But  all  the  play,  the  insight  and  the  stretch  — 
Out  of  me  !  out  of  me  !     And  wherefore  out  ? 
Had  you  enjoined  them  on  me,  given  me  soul, 
We  might  have  risen  to  Rafael,  I  and  you. 
Nay,  Love,  you  did  give  all  I  asked,  I  think  — 
More  than  I  merit,  yes,  by  many  times. 
But  had  you  —  oh,  with  the  same  perfect  brow, 
And  perfect  eyes,  and  more  than  perfect  mouth, 
And  the  low  voice  my-  soul  hears,  as  a  bird 
The  fowler's  pipe,  and  follows  to  the  snare  — 
Had  you,  with  these  the  same,  but  brought  a  mind 
Some  women  do  so.     Had  the  mouth  there  urged 
"  God  and  the  glory  !  never  care  for  gain. 
I"he  present  by  the  future,  what  is  that  ? 
Live  for  fame,  side  by  side  with  Angelo  — 
Rafael  is  waiting.     Up  to  God  all  three  ! " 
I  might  have  done  it  for  you.     So  it  seems  — 
Perhaps  not.     All  is  as  God  overrules. 
Beside,  incentives  come  from  the  soul's  self; 
The  rest  avail  not.     Why  do  I  need  you  ? 
What  wife  had  Rafael,  or  has  Angelo  ? 


ANDREA    DKL    8AUTO.  189 

[n  this  world,  who  can  do  a  thing,  will  not  — 

And  who  would  do  it,  cannot,  I  perceive  : 

Yet  the  will 's  somewhat  —  somewhat,  too,  the  power  — 

And  thus  we  half-men  struggle.     At  the  end, 

God,  I  conclude,  compensates,  punishes. 

Tis  safer  for  me,  if  the  award  be  strict, 

That  I  am  something  underrated  here, 

Poor  this  long  while,  despised,  to  speak  the  truth. 

I  dared  not,  do  you  know,  leave  home  all  day, 

For  fear  of  chancing  on  the  Paris  lords. 

The  best  is  when  they  pass  and  look  aside  ; 

But  they  speak  sometimes ;  I  must  bear  it  alL 

Well  may  they  speak  !     That  Francis,  that  first  time, 

And  that  long  festal  year  at  Fontainebleau  ! 

I  surely  then  could  sometimes  leave  the  ground, 

Put  on  the  glory,  Rafael's  daily  wear, 

In  that  humane  great  monarch's  golden  look,  — 

One  finger  on  his  beard,  or  twisted  curl 

Over  his  mouth's  good  mark  that  made  the  smile. 

One  arm  about  my  shoulder,  round  my  neck, 

The  jingle  of  his  gold  chain  in  my  ear, 

You  painting  proudly  with  his  breath  on  me, 

All  his  court  round  him,  seeing  with  his  eyes, 

Such  frank  French  eyes,  and  such  a  fire  of  souls 

Profuse,  my  hand  kept  plying  by  those  hearts,  •— 

And,  best  of  all,  this,  this,  this  face  beyond, 

rhis  La  the  background,  waiting  on  my  work, 

To  crown  the  issue  with  a  last  reward  ! 

A.  good  tune,  was  it  not.  my  kingly  days  ? 


190  ANDREA    DEL    SAKTO. 

And  had  you  not  grown  restless  — but  I  know  — 

Tis  done  and  past ;  'twas  right,  my  instinct  said ; 

Too  live  the  life  grew,  golden  and  not  gray  — 

And  I  'm  the  weak-eyed  bat  no  sun  should  tempt 

Out  of  the  grange  whose  four  walls  make  his  world. 

How  could  it  end  in  any  other  way  ? 

You  3alled  me,  and  I  came  home  to  your  heart. 

The  triumph  was  to  have  ended  there  —  then  if 

I  reached  it  ere  the  triumph,  what  is  lost  ? 

Let  my  hands  frame  your  face  in  your  hair's  gold, 

You  beautiful  Lucrezia  that  are  mine  ! 

u  Rafael  did  this,  Andrea  painted  that  — 

The  Roman's  is  the  better  when  you  pray, 

But  still  the  other's  Virgin  was  his  wife  —  " 

Men  will  excuse  me.     I  am  glad  to  judge 

Both  pictures  in  your  presence  ;  clearer  grows 

My  better  fortune,  I  resolve  to  think. 

For,  do  you  know,  Lucrezia,  as  God  lives, 

Said  one  day  Angelo,  his  very  self, 

To  Rafael  ...  I  have  known  it  all  these  years  .  . . 

(When  the  young  man  was  flaming  out  his  thoughts 

Upon  a  palace-wall  for  Rome  to  see, 

Too  lifted  up  hi  heart  because  of  it) 

"  Friend,  there 's  a  certain  sorry  little  scrub 

Goes  up  and  down  our  Florence,  none  cares  how, 

Who,  were  he  set  to  plan  and  execute 

As  you  are  pricked  on  by  your  popes  and  kings, 

Would  bring  the  sweat  into  that  brow  of  yours ! " 

To  Rafael's  !  —  And  indeed  the  arm  is  wrong. 


ANDREA    DEL    SABTO.  191 

I  hardly  dare  —  yet,  only  you  to  see, 

Give  the  chalk  here  —  quick,  thus  the  line  should  go  I 

Ay,  but  the  soul !  he 's  Rafael !  rub  it  out ! 

Still,  all  I  care  for,  if  he  spoke  the  truth, 

(What  he  ?  why,  who  but  Michael  Angelo  ? 

Do  you  forget  already  words  like  those  ?) 

If  really  there  was  such  a  chance,  so  lost, 

Is,  whether  you  're  —  not  grateful  —  but  more  pleased 

Well,  let  me  think  so.     And  you  smile  indeed! 

This  hour  has  been  .an  hour  !     Another  smile  ? 

If  you  would  sit  thus  by  me  every  night 

I  should  work  better,  do  you  comprehend  ? 

I  mean  that  I  should  earn  more,  give  you  more 

See,  it  is  settled  dusk  now  ;  there  's  a  star ; 

Morello  's  gone,  the  watch-lights  show  the  wall, 

The  cue-owls  speak  the  name  we  call  them  by. 

Come  from  the  window,  Love,  —  come  in,  at  last, 

Inside  the  melancholy  little  house 

We  built  to  be  so  gay  with.     God  is  just. 

King  Francis  may  forgive  me.     Oft  at  nights 

When  I  look  up  from  painting,  eyes  tired  out, 

The  walls  become  illumined,  brick  from  brick 

Distinct,  instead  of  mortar  fierce  bright  gold, 

That  gold  of  his  I  did  cement  them  with ! 

Let  us  but  love  each  other.     Must  you  go  ? 

That  Cousin  here  again  ?  he  waits  outside  ? 

Must  see  you  —  you,  and  not  with  me  ?     Those  loans  I 

More  gaming  debts  to  pay  ?  you  smiled  for  that  ? 

Well,  let  smiles  buy  me  !  have  you  more  to  spend  ? 


192  ANDREA    DEL    SARTO. 

While  hand  and  eye  and  something  of  a  heart 

Are  left  me,  work  's  my  ware,  and  what 's  it  worth? 

I  '11  pay  my  fancy.     Only  let  me  sit 

The  gray  remainder  of  the  evening  out, 

Idle,  you  call  it,  and  muse  perfectly 

How  I  could  paint  were  I  but  back  in  France, 

One  picture,  just  one  more  —  the  Virgin's  face, 

Not  your's  this  time  !     I  want  you  at  my  side 

To  hear  them  —  that  is,  Michael  Angelo  — 

Judge  all  I  do  and  tell  you  of  its  worth. 

Will  you  ?     To-morrow,  satisfy  your  friend. 

I  take  the  subjects  for  his  corridor, 

Finish  the  portrait  out  of  hand  —  there,  there, 

And  throw  him  in  another  thing  or  two 

If  he  demurs ;  the  whole  should  prove  enough 

To  pay  for  this  same  Cousin's  freak.     Beside, 

What 's  better  and  what 's  all  I  care  about, 

Get  you  the  thirteen  scudi  for  the  ruff'. 

Love,  does  that  please  you  ?     Ah,  but  what  does  he 

The  Cousin  !  what  does  he  to  please  you  more  ? 

I  am  grown  peaceful  as  old  age  to-night. 
*  regret  little,  I  would  change  still  less. 
Since  there  my  past  life  lies,  why  alter  it  ? 
The  very  wrong  to  Francis  !  it  is  true 
L  took  his  coin,  was  tempted  and  complied, 
And  built  this  house  and  sinned,  and  all  is  said. 
My  father  and  my  mother  died  of  want. 
Well,  had  I  riches  of  my  own  ?  you  see 


ANDREA    DEL    SABTO.  l 

How  one  gets  rich  !     Let  each  one  bear  his  lot. 
They  were  born  poor,  lived  poor,  and  poor  they  died : 
And  I  have  laboured  somewhat  in  my  tune 
And  not  been  paid  profusely.     Some  good  son 
Paint  my  two  hundred  pictures  —  let  him  try  ! 
No  doubt,  there 's  something  strikes  a  balance.     Yes, 
You  loved  me  quite  enough,  it  seems  to-night. 
This  must  suffice  me  here.     What  would  one  have  ? 
In  heaven,  perhaps,  new  chances,  one  more  chance  — 
Four  great  walls  in  the  New  Jerusalem 
Meted  on  each  side  by  the  angel's  reed, 
For  Leonard,  Rafael,  Angelo  and  me 
To  cover  —  the  three  first  without  a  wife, 
While  I  have  mine  I     So  —  still  they  overcome 
Because  there 's  still  Lucrezia,  —  as  I  choose. 

Again  the  Cousin's  whistle  1    Go,  my  Lore. 


BEFORE. 

1. 

LET  them  fight  it  out,  friend !  things  have  gone  too  fax 
God  must  judge  the  couple !  leave  them  as  they  are 
—  Whichever  one's  the  guiltless,  to  his  glory, 
And  whichever  one  the  guilt 's  with,  to  my  story. 


Why,  you  would  not  bid  me  n,  sunk  in  such  a  slough, 
Strike  no  arm  out  further,  stick  and  stink  as  now, 
Leaving  right  and  wrong  to  settle  the  embroilment, 
Heaven  with  snaky  Hell,  in  torture  and  entoilment  ? 

8. 

Which  of  them 's  the  culprit,  how  must  he  conceive 
God 's  the  queen  he  caps  to,  laughing  w  his  sleeve  ! 
Tis  but  decent  to  profess  one's  self  beneath  her. 
Still,  one  must  not  be  too  much  in  earnest  either. 

4. 

Better  sin  the  whole  sin,  sure  that  God  observes, 
Then  go  live  his  life  out !  life  will  try  his  nerves, 
When  the  sky.  which  noticed  all,  makes  no  disclosure 
And  the  earth  keeps  up  her  terrible  composure. 


BEFORE.  195 

5. 

Let  him  pace  at  pleasure,  past  the  walla  of  rose, 
Pluck  their  fruits  when  grape-trees  graze  him  as  he  goes 
For  he  'gins  to  guess  the  purpose  of  the  garden, 
With  the  sly  mute  thing  beside  there  for  a  warden. 

6. 

What 's  the  leopard-dog-thing,  constant  to  his  side, 
A  leer  and  lie  in  every  eye  on  its  obsequious  hide  ? 
When  will  come  an  end  of  all  the  mock  obeisance, 
And  the  price  appear  that  pays  for  the  misfeasance  ? 

7. 

So  much  for  the  culprit.     Who 's  the  martyred  man  ? 
Let  him  bear  one  stroke  more,  for  be  sure  he  can. 
He  that  strove  thus  evil's  lump  with  good  to  leaven, 
Let  him  give  his  blood  at  last  and  get  his  heaven. 

8. 

All  or  nothing,  stake  it !  trusts  he  God  or  no  ? 
Thus  far  and  no  further  ?  further  ?  be  it  so. 
Now,  enough  of  your  chicane  of  prudent  pauses,      • 
Sage  provisos,  sub-intents,  and  saving-clauses. 

9. 

Ah,  "forgive"  you   bid  him?     While    God's  champion 

lives, 

Wrong  shall  be  resisted :  dead,  why  he  forgives. 
But  you  must  not  end  my  friend  ere  you  begin  him  ; 
Evil  stands  not  crowned  on  earth,  while  breath  is  it-  nim 


196  BEFORE. 

10. 

Once  more  —  Will  the  wronger,  at  this  last  of  all, 
Dare  to  say  "  I  did  wrong,"  rising  in  his  fall  ? 
No  ?  —  Let  go,  then  —  both  the  fighters  to  their  places— 
WTiile  I  count  three,  step  you  back  as  many  paces. 


TAKE  the  cloak  from  his  face,  and  at  iirst 
Let  the  corpse  do  its  worst. 

How  he  lies  in  his  rights  of  a  man ! 

Death  has  done  all  death  can. 
And  absorbed  in  the  new  life  he  leads, 

He  recks  not,  he  heeds 
Nor  his  wrong  nor  my  vengeance  —  both  strike 

On  his  senses  alike, 
And  are  lost  in  the  solemn  and  strange 

Surprise  of  the  change. 
Ha,  what  avails  death  to  erase 

His  offence,  my  disgrace  ? 
I  would  we  were  boys  as  of  old 

In  the  field,  by  the  fold  — 
His  outrage,  God's  patience,  man's  scorn 

Were  so  easily  borne. 

I  stand  here  now,  he  lies  in  his  place  — 
Cover  the  face. 


IN  THREE  DAYS. 

I. 

So,  I  shall  see  her  in  tnree  days 
And  just  one  night,  but  nights  are  short, 
Then  two  long  hours,  and  that  is  morn. 
See  how  I  come,  unchanged,  unworn  — 
Feel,  where  my  life  broke  off  ft  jm  thine, 
How  fresh  the  splinters  keep  and  fine,-— 
Only  a  touch  and  we  combine  ! 

2. 

Too  long,  this  tune  of  year,  the  days  ! 
But  nights  —  at  least  the  nights  are  short. 
As  night  shows  where  her  one  moon  is, 
A  hand's-breadth  of  pure  light  and  bliss, 
So,  life's  night  gives  my  lady  birth 
And  my  eyes  hold  her  !  what  is  worth 
The  rest  of  heaven,  the  rest  of  earth  ? 


O  lAaded  curls,  release  your  store 
CK  •rarmth  and  scent  as  once  before 


IN   THREE   DATS. 

The  tingling  hair  did,  lights  and  darks 
Out-breaking  into  fairy  sparks 
When  under  curl  and  curl  I  pried 
After  the  warmth  and  scent  inside 
Thro'  lights  and  darks  how  manifold  — 
The  dark  inspired,  the  light  controlled ! 
As  early  Art  embrowned  the  gold. 


What  great  fear  —  should  one  say,  a  Three  days 

That  change  the  world,  might  change  as  well 

Your  fortune  ;  and  if  joy  delays, 

Be  happy  that  no  worse  befell." 

What  small  fear  — if  another  says, 

u  Three  days  and  one  short  night  beside 

May  throw  no  shadow  on  your  ways ; 

But  years  must  teem  with  change  untried, 

With  chance  not  easily  defied, 

With  an  end  somewhere  undescried." 

No  fear  !  —  or  if  a  fear  be  born 

This  minute,  it  dies  out  in  scorn. 

Fear  ?  I  shall  see  her  hi  three  days 

And  one  night  now  the  nights  are  short. 

Then  just  two  hcurs,  and  that  is  aaorn. 


IN  A  fEAS. 

1. 

NEVER  any  more 

While  I  live, 
Need  I  hope  to  see  his  face 

As  before. 
Once  his  love  grown  chill, 

Mine  may  strive  — 
Bitterly  we  re-embrace, 

Single  still. 

2. 

Was  it  something  said, 

Something  done, 
Vexed  him  ?  was  it  touch  of  hand, 

Turn  of  head  ? 
Strange  !  that  very  way 

Love  begun. 
I  as  little  understand 

Love's  decay. 


IN    A    TEAR.  201 

3. 

When  I  sewed  or  drew, 

I  recall 
How  he  looked  as  if  I  sang, 

—  Sweetly  too. 
If  I  spoke  a  word, 

First  of  all 
Up  his  cheek  the  color  sprang, 

Then  he  heard. 

4. 

Sitting  by  my  side, 

At  my  feet, 
So  he  breathed  the  air  I  breathed, 

Satisfied ! 
I,  too,  at  love's  brim 

Touched  the  sweet : 
I  would  die  if  death  bequeathed 

Sweet  to  him. 

5. 

*  Speak,  I  love  thee  best  1 " 

He  exclaimed. 
"  Let  thy  love  my  own  foretell,  —  " 

I  confessed  : 
"  Gasp  my  heart  on  thine 

Now  unblamed, 
Since  upon  thy  soul  as  well 

Hangeth  mine  1 " 


202  IN   A    YEAS. 


6. 

Was  it  wrong  to  own, 

Being  truth  ? 
Why  should  all  the  giving  prove 

His  alone  ? 
I  had  wealth  and  ease, 

Beauty,  youth  — 
Since  my  lover  gave  me  love, 

I  gave  these. 

7. 

That  was  all  I  meant, 

—  To  be  just, 
And  the  passion  I  had  raised 

To  content. 
Since  he  chose  to  change 

Gold  for  dust, 
If  I  gave  him  what  he  praised 

Was  it  strange  ? 


Would  he  loved  me  yet, 

On  and  on, 
While  I  found  some  way  undreamed 

—  Paid  my  debt ! 
Gave  more  life  and  more. 

Till,  all  gone, 
He  should  smile  "  She  never  seemed 

Mine  before. 


IN    A    TEAR.  203 

9. 

*  What  —  she  felt  the  while, 

Must  I  think  ? 
Love  's  so  different  with  us  men," 

He  should  smile. 
"  Dying  for  my  sake  — 

White  and  pink ! 
Can't  we  touch  these  bubbles  then 

But  they  break  ?  " 

10. 

Dear,  the  pang  is  brief. 

Do  thy  part, 
Have  thy  pleasure.     How  perplext 

Grows  belief! 
Well,  this  cold  clay  clod 

Was  man's  heart. 
Crumble  it  —  and  what  comes  next  ? 

Is  it  God? 


OLD  PICTURES  IN  FLORENCE. 

l. 

Tnp  morn  when  first  it  thunders  in  March, 

The  eel  in  the  pond  gives  a  leap,  they  say. 
As  I  leaned  and  looked  over  the  aloed  arch 

Of  the  villa-gate,  this  warm  March  day, 
No  flash  snapt,  no  dum  thunder  rolled 

In  the  valley  beneath,  where,  white  and  wide, 
Washed  by  the  morning's  water-gold, 

Florence  lay  out  on  the  mountain-side. 


River  and  bridge  and  street  and  square 

Lay  mine,  as  much  at  my  beck  and  call, 
Through  the  live  translucent  bath  of  air, 

As  the  sights  in  a  magic  crystal  ball. 
And  of  all  I  saw  and  of  all  I  praised, 

The  most  to  praise  and  the  best  to  see, 
Was  the  startling  bell-tower  Giotto  raised  : 

But  why  did  it  more  than  startle  me  ? 


OLD    PICTURES    IN    FLORENCE.  205 

3. 

Giotto,  how,  with  that  soul  of  yours, 

Could  you  play  me  false  who  loved  you  so  ? 
Some  slights  if  a  certain  heart  endures 

It  feels,  I  would  have  your  fellows  know ! 
'Faith  —  I  perceive  not  why  I  should  care 

To  break  a  silence  that  suits  them  best, 
But  the  thing  grows  somewhat  hard  to  bear 

"When  I  find  a  Giotto  join  the  rest. 

4. 

On  the  arch  where  olives  overhead 

Print  the  blue  sky  with  twig  and  leaf, 
(That  sharp-curled  leaf  they  never  shed) 

'Twixt  the  aloes  I  used  to  lean  in  chief, 
And  mark  through  the  winter  afternoons, 

By  a  gift  God  grants  me  now  and  then, 
In  the  mild  decline  of  those  suns  like  moons, 

Who  walked  in  Florence,  besides  her  men. 

5. 

They  might  chirp  and  chaffer,  come  and  go 

For  pleasure  or  profit,  her  men  alive  — 
My  business  was  hardly  with  them,  I  trow, 

But  with  empty  cells  of  the  human  hive ; 
—  With  the  chapter-room,  the  cloister-porch, 

The  church's  apsis,  aisle  or  nave, 
Its  crypt,  one  fingers  along  with  a  torch  — 

Its  face,  set  full  for  the  sun  to  shave. 


806  OLD    PICTURES    IN    FLORENCE. 

6. 

Wherever  a  fresco  peels  and  drops, 

Wherever  an  outline  weakens  and  wanes 
Till  the  latest  life  in  the  painting  stops, 

Stands  One  whom  each  fainter  pulse-tick  pains  ! 
One,  wishful  each  scrap  should  clutch  its  brick, 

Each  tinge  not  wholly  escape  the  plaster, 
—  A  lion  who  dies  of  an  ass's  kick, 

The  wronged  great  soul  of  an  ancient  Master. 

7. 

For  oh,  this  world  and  the  wrong  it  does ! 

They  are  safe  in  heaven  with  their  backs  to  it, 
The  Michaels  and  Rafaels,  you  hum  and  buzz 

Round  the  works  of,  you  of  the  little  wit ; 
Do  their  eyes  contract  to  the  earth's  old  scope, 

Now  that  they  see  God  face  to  face, 
And  have  all  attained  to  be  poets,  I  hope  ? 

'Tis  their  holiday  now,  in  any  case. 

8. 

Much  they  reck  of  your  praise  and  you  ! 

But  the  wronged  great  souls  —  can  they  be  quit 
Of  a  world  where  all  their  work  is  to  do, 

Where  you  style  them,  you  of  the  little  wit, 
Old  Master  this  and  Early  the  other, 

Not  dreaming  that  Old  and  New  are  fellows, 
That  a  younger  succeeds  to  an  elder  brother, 

Da  Vincis  derive  in  good  time  from  Dellos. 


OLD    PICTURES    EN    FLORENCE.  207 

9. 

And  here  where  your  praise  would  yield  returns 

And  a  handsome  word  or  two  give  help, 
Here,  after  your  kind,  the  mastiff  girns 

And  the  puppy  pack  of  poodles  yelp. 
What,  not  a  word  for  Stefano  there 

—  Of  brow  once  prominent  and  starry, 
Called  Nature's  ape  and  the  world's  despair 

For  his  peerless  painting  (see  Vasari   ? 

10. 

There  he  stands  now.     Study,  my  friends, 

What  a  man's  work  comes  to !  so  he  plans  it, 
Performs  it,  perfects  it,  makes  amends 

For  the  toiling  and  moiling,  and  there  's  its  transit  1 
Happier  the  thrifty  blind-folk  labour, 

With  upturned  eye  while  the  hand  is  busy, 
Not  sidling  a  glance  at  the  coin  of  then-  neighbour ! 

'Tis  looking  downward  makes  one  dizzy. 

11. 

If  you  knew  their  work  you  would  deal  your  dole. 

May  I  take  upon  me  to  instruct  you  ? 
When  Greek  Art  ran  and  reached  the  goal, 

Thus  much  had  the  world  to  boast  in  fructu  — 
The  truth  of  Man,  as  by  God  first  spoken 

Which  the  actual  generations  garble 
Was  re-uttered,  —  and  Soul  (which  Limbs  betoken) 

And  Limbs  (Soul  informs)  were  made  new  in  marble. 


208  OLD    PICTURES    IN    FLORENCE. 

12. 

So  you  saw  yourself  as  you  wished  you  were, 

As  you  might  have  been,  as  you  cannot  be  ; 
And  bringing  your  own  shortcomings  there, 

You  grew  content  in  your  poor  degree 
With  your  little  power,  by  those  statues'  godhead, 

And  your  little  scope,  by  their  eyes'  full  sway, 
And  your  little  grace,  by  their  grace  embodied, 

And  your  little  date,  by  their  forms  that  stay. 

13. 

You  would  fain  be  kinglier,  say  than  I  am  ? 

Even  so,  you  will  not  sit  like  Theseus. 
You'd  fain  be  a  model?  the  Son  of  Priam 

Has  yet  the  advantage  in  arms'  and  knees'  use. 
You  're  wroth  —  can  you  slay  your  snake  like  Apollo 

You  're  grieved  —  still  Niobe  's  the  grander  J 
You  live  —  there  's  the  Racers'  frieze  to  follow— 

You  die  —  there  's  the  dying  Alexander. 

14. 

So,  testing  your  weakness  by  their  strength, 

Your  meagre  charms  by  their  rounded  beauty, 
Measured  by  Art  in  your  breadth  and  length, 

You  learn  —  to  submit  is  the  worsted's  duty. 
—  When  I  say  "  you  "  'tis  the  common  soul, 

The  collective,  I  mean  —  the  race  of  Man 
That  receives  life  hi  parts  to  live  in  a  whole, 

And  grow  here  according  to  God's  own  plan. 


OLD    PICTURES    IN    FLORENCE.  209 

15. 

Growth  came  when,  looking  your  last  on  them  all, 

You  turned  your  eyes  inwardly  one  fine  day, 
And  cried  with  a  start  —  What  if  we  so  small 

Are  greater,  ay,  greater  the  while  than  they ! 
Aje  they  perfect  of  lineament,  perfect  of  stature  ? 

In  both,  of  such  lower  types  are  we 
Precisely  because  of  our  wider  nature  ! 

For  time,  theirs  —  ours,  for  eternity. 

16. 

To-day's  brief  passion  limits  their  range, 

It  seethes  with  the  morrow  for  us  and  more. 
Chey  are  perfect  —  how  else  ?  they  shall  never  change : 

We  are  faulty  —  why  not  ?  we  have  tune  in  store. 
Fhe  Artificer's  hand  is  not  arrested 

With  us  —  we  are  rough-hewn,  nowise  polished  : 
]They  stand  for  our  copy,  and,  once  invested 

With  all  they  can  teach,  we  shall  see  them  abolished 

17. 

Tis  a  life-long  toil  till  our  lump  be  leaven  — 

The  better  !  what 's  come  to  perfection  perishes. 
Things  learned  on  earth,  we  shall  practise  in  heaven. 

Works  done  least  rapidly,  Art  most  cherishes. 
Thyself  shall  afford  the  example,  Giotto! 

Thy  one  work,  not  to  decrease  or  diminish, 
Done  at  a  stroke,  was  just  (was  it  not  ?)  "  O  1  ** 

Thy  great  Campanile  is  still  to  finish. 
14 


210  OLD   PICTURES   IN   FLORENCE. 

18. 

Is  it  true,  we  are  now,  and  shall  be  hereafter, 

And  what  —  is  depending  on  life's  one  minute  ? 
Hails  heavenly  cheer  or  infernal  laughter 

Our  first  step  out  of  the  gulf  or  in  it  ? 
And  Man,  this  step  within  his  endeavour, 

His  face,  have  no  more  play  and  action 
Than  joy  which  is  crystallized  forever, 

Or  grief,  an  eternal  petrifaction  ! 

19. 

On  which  I  conclude,  that  the  early  painters, 

To  cries  of  "  Greek  Art  and  what  more  wish  you  ?  "— 
Replied,  "  Become  now  self-acquainters, 

And  paint  man,  man,  —  whatever  the  issue  ! 
Make  the  hopes  shine  through  the  flesh  they  fray, 

New  fears  aggrandize  the  rags  and  tatters. 
So  bring  the  invisible  full  into  play, 

Let  the  visible  go  to  the  dogs  —  what  matters  ?  " 

20. 

Give  these,  I  say,  full  honour  and  glory 

For  daring  so  much,  before  they  well  did  it. 
The  first  of  the  new,  in  our  race's  story, 

Beats  the  last  of  the  old,  'tis  no  idle  quiddit. 
The  worthies  began  a  revolution 

Which  jf  on  the  earth  we  intend  to  acknowledge 
Honour  them  now  —  (ends  my  allocution) 

Nor  confer  our  degree  when  the  folks  leave  college 


OLD    PICTURES    IN   FLORENCE.  21  1 

21. 

ITiere  's  a  fancy  some  lean  to  and  others  hate  — 

That,  when  this  life  is  ended,  begins 
New  work  for  the  soul  in  another  state, 

Where  it  strives  and  gets  weary,  loses  and  wins  — 
Where  the  strong  and  the  weak,  this  world's  congeries. 

Repeat  in  large  what  they  practised  hi  small, 
Through  life  after  life  hi  unlimited  series ; 

Only  the  scale  's  to  be  changed,  that 's  all. 

22. 

T"et  I  hardly  know.     When  a  soul  has  seen 

By  the  means  of  Evil  that  Good  is  best,  [serene, — 
And  through  earth  and   its  noise,  .what  is  heaven'i 

When  its  faith  in  the  same  has  stood  the  test  — 
Why,  the  child  grown  man,  jn  i  burn  the  rod, 

The  uses  of  labour  are  surely  done. 
There  remaineth  a  rest  for  the  people  of  God, 

And  I  have  had  troubles  enough  for  one. 

23. 

But«t  any  rate  I  have  loved  the  season 

Of  Art's  spring-birth  so  dim  and  dewy, 
My  sculptor  is  Nicolo  the  Pisan  ; 

My  painter  —  who  but  Cimabue  ? 
Nor  ever  was  man  of  them  all  indeed, 

From  these  to  Ghiberti  and  Ghirlandajo, 
Could  say  that  he  missed  my  critic-meed. 

So  now  to  my  special  grievance  —  heigh  ho  J 


812  OLD    PICTURES    IN    FLORENCE. 

24. 

Their  ghosts  now  stand,  as  I  said  before, 

Watching  each  fresco  flaked  and  rasped, 
Blocked  out,  knocked  out,  or  whitewashed  o'er 

—  No  getting  again  what  the  church  has  grasped  ! 
The  works  on  the  wall  must  take  their  chance, 

"  Works  never  conceded  to  England's  thick  clime  ! 
(I  hope  they  prefer  their  inheritance 

Of  a  bucketful  of  Italian  quicklime.) 

25. 

When  they  go  at  length,  with  such  a  shaking 

Of  heads  o'er  the  old  delusions,  sadly 
Each  master  his  way  through  the  black  streets  taking 

Where  many  a  lost  work  breathes  though  badly  — 
Why  don't  they  bethink  them  of  who  has  merited  ? 

Why  not  reveal,  while  their  pictures  dree 
Such  doom,  that  a  captive  's  to  be  out-ferreted  ? 

Why  do  they  never  remember  me? 


Not  that  I  expect  the  great  Bigordi  « 

Nor  Sandro  to  hear  me,  chivalric,  bellicose ; 
Nor  wronged  Lippino  —  and  not  a  word  I 

Say  of  a  scrap  of  Fra  Angelico's. 
But  are  you  too  fine,  Taddeo  Gaddi, 

To  grant  me  a  taste  of  your  intonaco  — 
Some  Jerome  that  seeks  the  heaven  with  a  sad  eye  ' 

No  churlish  saint,  Lorenzo  Monaco  ? 


OLD    PICTLRES    IN    KLOKENCE.  213 

27. 

Could  not  the  ghost  with  the  close  red  cap, 

My  Pollajolo,  the  twice  a  craftsman, 
Save  me  a  .sample,  give  me  the  hap  fr 

Of  a  muscular  Christ  that  shows  the  draughtsman  t 
No  Virgin  by  him,  the  somewhat  petty, 

Of  finical  touch  and  tempera  crumbly  — 
Could  not  Alesso  Baldovmetti 

Contribute  so  much,  I  ask  him  humbly  ? 

28. 

Margheritone  of  Arezzo, 

With  the  grave-clothes  garb  and  swaddling  barret, 
(Why  purse  up  mouth  and  beak  in  a  pet  so, 

You  bald,  saturnine,  poll-clawed  parrot  ?) 
No  poor  glimmering  Crucifixion, 

Where  in  the  foreground  kneels  the  donor  ? 
<f  such  remain,  as  is  my  conviction, 

The  hoarding  does  you  but  little  honour. 

29. 

iTiey  pass  :  for  them  the  panels  may  thrill, 

The  tempera  grow  alive  and  tinglish  — 
Rot  or  are  left  to  the  mercies  still 

Of  dealers  and  stealers,  Jews  and  the  English  I 
Seeing  mere  money's  worth  in  their  prize, 

Who  sell  it  to  some  one  calm  as  Zeno 
At  naked  Art,  and  in  ecstacies 

Before  some  clay -cold,  vile  Carlino  ! 


214  OLD    PICTURES    IN    FLORENCE. 

SO. 
No  matter  for  these  !     But  Giotto,  you, 

Have  you  allowed,  as  the  town-tongues  babble  it, 
Never !  it  shall  not  be  counted  tr+e  — 

That  a  certain  precious  little  tablet 
Which  Buonarroti  eyed  like  a  lover,  — 

Buried  so  long  in  oblivion's  womb, 
Was  left  for  another  than  I  to  discover,  — 

Turns  up  at  last,  and  to  whom  ?  —  to  whom  ? 

31. 

I,  that  have  haunted  the  dim  San  Spirito, 

(Or  was  it  rather  the  Ognissanti  ?) 
Stood  on  the  altar-steps,  patient  and  weary  too  I 

Nay,  I  shall  have  it  yet,  detur  amanti  ! 
My  Koh-i-noor — or  (if  that's  a  platitude) 

Jewel  of  Giamschid,  the  Persian  Sofi's  eye  1 
So,  in  anticipative  gratitude, 

What  if  I  take  up  my  hope  and  prophesy  ? 

32. 

When  the  hour  is  ripe,  and  a  certain  dotard 

Pitched,  no  parcel  that  needs  invoicing, 
To  the  worse  side  of  the  Mont  St.  Gothard, 

Have,  to  begin  by  way  of  rejoicing, 
None  of  that  shooting  the  sky  (blank  cartridge) 

No  civic  guards,  all  plumes  and  lacquer, 
Hunting  Radetzky's  soul  like  a  partridge 

Over  Morello  with  squib  and  cracker. 


OLD    PICTURES    IN   FLORENCE.  215 

33. 

We  '11  shoot  this  time  better  game  and  bag  'em  hot— 

No  display  at  the  stone  of  Dante, 
But  a  kind  of  Witan-agemot 

("  Casa  Guidi,"  quod  videas  ante) 
To  ponder  Freedom  restored  to  Florence, 

How  Art  may  return  that  departed  with  her. 
Go,  hated  house,  go  each  trace  of  the  Loraine's ! 

And  bring  us  the  days  of  Orgagna  hither. 

34. 

How  we  shall  prologuize,  how  we  shall  perorate, 

Say  fit  things  upon  art  and  history  — 
Set  truth  at  blood-heat  and  the  false  at  a  zero  rate, 

Make  of  the  want  of  the  age  no  mystery ! 
Contrast  the  fructuous  and  sterile  eras, 

Show,  monarchy  its  uncouth  cub  licks 
Out  of  the  bear's  shape  to  the  chimaera's  — 

Pure  Art's  birth  being  still  the  republic's  ! 

35. 

Then  one  shall  propose  (in  a  speech,  curt  Tuscan, 

Sober,  expurgate,  spare  of  an  "issimo") 
Ending  our  half-told  tale  of  Cambuscan,' 

Turning  the  Bell-tower's  altaltissimo. 
And  fine  as  the  beak  of  a  young  beccaccia 

The  Campanile,  the  Duomo's  fit  ally, 
Soars  up  in  gold  its  full  fifty  braccia, 

Completing  Florence,  as  Florence,  Italy. 


216  OLD    PICTURES    IN    FLORENCE. 

36. 

Shall  I  be  alive  that  morning  the  scaffold 

Is  broken  away,  and  the  long-pent  fire 
Like  the  golden  hope  of  the  world  unbaffled' 

Springs  from  its  sleep,  and  up  goes  the  spire  - 
As,  "  God  and  the  People  "  plain  for  its  motto, 

Thence  the  new  tricolor  flaps  at  the  sky  ? 
Foreseeing  the  day  that  vindicates  Giotto 

And  Florence  together,  the  first  am  1 1 


1M  A  BALCONY. 

FIRST  PART. 
CONSTANCE  and  NOBBBBT. 


Now. 

CONSTANCE. 

Not  now. 

NOBBEBT. 

Give  me  them  again,  those  hands  • 
Put  them  upon  my  forehead,  how  it  throbs  ! 
Press  them  before  my  eyes,  the  fire  comes  through, 
You  cruellest,  you  dearest  in  the  world, 
Let  me  !  the  Queen  must  grant  whate'er  I  ask  — 
How  can  I  gain  you  and  not  ask  the  Queen  ? 
There  she  stays  waiting  for  me,  here  stand  you. 
Some  time  or  other  this  was  to  be  asked,   , 


218  IN   A   BALCONT. 

Now  is  the  one  time  —  what  I  ask,  I  gain  — 
Let  me  ask  now,  Love  ! 

CONSTANCE. 

Do,  and  ruin  us. 


Let  it  be  now,  Love  !     All  my  soul  breaks  forth. 
How  I  do  love  you  !  give  my  love  its  way ! 
A  man  can  have  but  one  life  and  one  death, 
One  heaven,  one  hell.     Let  me  fulfil  my  fate  — 
Grant  me  my  heaven  now.     Let  me  know  you  mine, 
Prove  you  mine,  write  my  name  upon  your  brow, 
Hold  you  and  have  you,  an<7  then  die  away 
If  God  please,  with  completion  hi  my  soul. 

CONSTANCE. 

I  am  not  yours  then  ?  how  content  this  man  ? 
I  am  not  his,  who  change  into  himself, 
Have  passed  into  his  heart  and  beat  its  beats, 
Who  give  my  hands  to  him,  my  eyes,  my  hair, 
Give  all  that  was  of  me  away  to  him 
So  well,  that  now,  my  spirit  turned  his  own, 
Takes  part  with  him  against  the  woman  here, 
Bids  him  not  stumble  at  so  mere  a  straw 
As  caring  that  the  world  be  cognizant 
How  he  loves  her  and  how  she  worships  him. 
You  have  this  woman,  not  as  yet  that  world. 
Go  on,  I  bid^nor  stop  to  care  for  me 


IN    A    BALCONY.  219 

By  saving  whai  I  cease  to  care  about, 
The  courtly  name  and  pride  of  circumstance  — 
The  name  you  '11  pick  up  and  be  cumbered  with 
Just  for  the  poor  parade's  sake,  nothing  more  ; 
Jusl  that  the  world  may  slip  from  under  you  — 
Just  that  the  world  may  cry  "  So  much  for  him  — 
The  man  predestined  to  the  heap  of  crowns  ! 
There  goes  his  chance  of  winning  one,  at  least." 


The  world! 

CONSTANCE. 

You  love  it.     Love  me  quite  as  well, 
And  see  if  I  shall  pray  for  this  in  vain  ! 
Why  must  you  ponder  what  it  knows  or  thinks  ? 

NORBERT. 

You  pray  for  —  what,  in  vain  ? 

CONSTANCE. 

Oh  my  heart's  heart, 

How  I  do  love  you,  Norbert !  —  that  is  right ! 
But  listen,  or  I  take  my  hands  away. 
5Tou  say,  "  let  it  be  now  "  —  you  would  go  now 
And  tell  the  Queen,  perhaps  six  steps  from  us, 
Fou  love  me  —  so  you  do,  thank  God 


Thank  God 


220  IN   A    BALCONY. 

CONSTANCE. 

Yes,  Norbert,  —  but  you  fain  would  tell  your  love, 

And,  what  succeeds  the  telling,  ask  of  her 

My  hand.     Now  take  this  rose  and  look  at  it, 

Listening  to  me.     You  are  the  minister, 

The  Queen's  first  favourite,  nor  without  a  cause. 

To-night  completes  your  wonderful  year's-work 

(This  palace-feast  is  held  to  celebrate) 

Made  memorable  by  her  life's  success, 

That  junction  of  two  crowns  on  her  sole  head 

Her  house  had  only  dreamed  of  anciently. 

That  this  mere  dream  is  grown  a  stable  truth 

To-night's  feast  makes  authentic.     Whose  the  praise  ? 

Whose  genius,  patience,  energy,  achieved 

What  turned  the  many  heads  and  broke  the  hearts  ? 

You  are  the  fate  —  your  minute  's  in  the  heaven. 

Next  comes  the  Queen's  turn.     Name  your  own  reward 

With  leave  to  clench  the  past,  chain  the  to-come, 

Put  out  an  arm  and  touch  and  take  the  sun 

And  fix  it  ever  full-faced  on  your  earth, 

Possess  yourself  supremely  of  her  life, 

You  choose  the  single  thing  she  will  not  grant  — 

The  very  declaration  of  which  choice 

Will  turn  the  scale  and  neutralize  your  work. 

A-t  best  she  will  forgive  you,  if  she  can. 

You  think  I  '11  let  you  choose  —  her  cousin's  hand  ? 

NORBERT. 

Wait.     First,  do  you  retain  your  old  belief 
The  Queen  is  generous  —  nay,  is  just  ? 


IN   A   BALCONT.  22  J 

3ONSTANCE. 

There,  there  1 

So  men  make  women  love  them,  while  they  know 
No  more  of  women's  hearts  than  .  .  .  look  you  here, 
You  that  are  just  and  generous  beside, 
Make  it  your  own  case.     For  example  now, 
I'll  say  —  I  let  you  kiss  me  and  hold  my  hands  — 
Why  ?  do  you  know  why  ?  I  '11  instruct  you,  then  — 
The  kiss,  because  you  have  a  name  at  court, 
This  hand  and  this,  that  you  may  shut  in  each 
A  jewel,  if  you  please  to  pick  up  such. 
That 's  horrible  !     Apply  it  to  the  Queen  — 
Suppose,  I  am  the  Queen  to  whom  you  speak. 
"  I  was  a  nameless  man  :  you  needed  me : 
Why  did  I  proffer  you  my  aid  ?  there  stood 
A  certain  pretty  Cousin  at  your  side. 
Why  did  I  make  such  common  cause  with  you  ? 
Access  to  her  had  not  been  easy  else. 
You  give  my  labours  here  abundant  praise : 
'Faith,  labour,  while  she  overlooked,  grew  play. 
How  shall  your  gratitude  discharge  itself? 
Give  me  her  hand ! " 

HORBERT. 

And  still  I  urge  the  same. 
U  the  Queen  just  ?  just  —  generous  or  no  ! 

CONSTANCE. 

r es,  just.     You  love  a  rose  —  no  harm  in  that  — 


222  IN   A    BALCONY 

But  was  it  for  the  rose's  sake  or  mine 

You  put  it  in  your  bosom  ?  mine,  you  said  — 

Then  mine  you  still  must  say  or  else  be  false. 

You  told  the  Queen  you  served  her  for  herself: 

If  so,  to  serve  her  was  to  serve  yourself 

She  thinks,  for  all  your  unbelieving  face ! 

I  know  her.     In  the  hall,  six  steps  from  us, 

One  sees  the  twenty  pictures  —  there  's  a  life 

Better  than  life  —  and  yet  no  life  at  all ; 

Conceive  her  born  in  such  a  magic  dome, 

Pictures  all  round  her !  why,  she  sees  the  world, 

Can  recognize  its  given  things  and  facts, 

The  fight  of  giants  or  the  feast  of  gods, 

Sages  in  senate,  beauties  at  the  bath, 

Chaces  and  battles,  the  whole  earth's  display, 

.Landscape  and  sea-piece,  down  to  flowers  and  fruit  • 

And  who  shall  question  that  she  knows  them  all 

In  better  semblance  than  the  things  outside  9 

Yet  bring  into  the  silent  gallery 

Some  live  thing  to  contrast  in  breath  and  blood, 

Some  lion  with  the  painted  lion  there  — 

You  think  she  '11  understand  composedly  ? 

—  Say,  "  that 's  his  fellow  in  the  hunting-piece 

Yonder,  I  've  turned  to  praise  a  hundred  times  ?  " 

Not  so.     Her  knowledge  of  our  actual  earth, 

Its  hopes  and  fears,  concerns  and  sympathies, 

Must  be  too  far,  too  mediate,  too  unreal. 

The  real  exists  for  us  outside,  not  her  — 

How  should  it,  with  that  life  in  these  four  walls, 


IN    A    BALCONY.  223 

That  father  and  that  mother,  first  to  last 

No  father  and  no  mother  —  friends,  a  heap, 

Lovers,  no  lack  —  a  husband  in  due  tune, 

And  every  one  of  them  alike  a  lie  ! 

Tilings  painted  by  a  Rubens  out  of  nought 

Into  what  kindness,  friendsliip,  love  should  be ; 

All  better,  all  more  grandiose  than  life, 

Only  no  life  ;  mere  cloth  and  surface-paint 

You  feel  while  you  admire.     How  should  she  feel  ? 

And  now  that  she  has  stood  thus  fifty  years 

The  sole  spectator  in  that  gallery, 

You  think  to  bring  this  warm  real  struggling  love 

In  to  her  of  a  sudden,  and  suppose 

She  '11  keep  her  state  untroubled  ?    Here 's  the  truth  — 

She  '11  apprehend  its  value  at  a  glance, 

Prefer  it  to  the  pictured  loyalty  ! 

You  only  have  to  say  "  so  men  are  made, 

For  this  they  act,  the  thing  has  many  names 

But  this  the  right  one  —  and  now,  Queen,  be  just ! " 

And  life  slips  back  —  you  lose  her  at  the  word  — 

You  do  not  even  for  amends  gain  me. 

He  will  not  understand     oh,  Norbert,  Norbert, 

Do  you  not  understand  ? 


The  Queen 's  the  Queen, 
T  am  myself —  no  picture,  but  alive 
In  every  nerve  and  every  musrle.  here 
At  the  palace-window  or  in  the  people's  street, 
As  she  in  the  gallery  where  the  pictures  glow. 


224  IN    A    BALCONY. 

The  good  of  life  is  precious  to  us  both. 

She  cannot  love  —  what  do  I  want  with  rule  ? 

When  first  I  saw  your  face  a  year  ago 

I  knew  my  life  's  good  —  my  soul  heard  one  voice 

"  The  woman  yonder,  there 's  no  use  of  life 

But  just  to  obtain  her!  heap  earth's  woes  in  one 

And  bear  them  —  make  a  pile  of  all  earth's  joys 

And  spurn  them,  as  they  help  or  help  not  here ; 

Only,  obtain  her  '  "  —  How  was  it  to  be  ? 

I  found  she  was  the  cousin  of  the  Queen  ; 

I  must  then  serve  the  Queen  to  get  to  her  — 

No  other  way.     Suppose  there  had  been  one, 

And  I  by  saying  prayers  to  some  white  star 

With  promise  of  my  body  and  my  soul 

Might  gain  you,  —  should  I  pray  the  star  or  no  ? 

Instead,  there  was  the  Queen  to  serve !  I  served, 

And  did  what  other  servants  failed  to  do. 

Neither  she  sought  nor  1  declared  my  end. 

Her  good  is  hers,  my  recompense  be  mine, 

And  let  me  name  you  as  that  recompense. 

She  dreamed  that  such  a  thing  could  never  be  ? 

Let  her  wake  now.     She  thinks  there  was  some  cause 

The  love  of  power,  of  fame,  pure  loyalty  ? 

—  Perhaps  she  fancies  men  wear  out  their  lives 

Chasing  .such  shades.     Then  I  've  a  fancy  too. 

I  worked  because  I  want  you  with  my  soul  — 

I  therefore  ask  your  hand.     Let  it  be  now. 

CONSTANCE. 

Had  I  not  loved  you  from  the  very  first, 


IN    A    BALCONY.  225 

Were  I  not  yours,  could  we  not  steal  out  thus 
Sc  wickedly,  so  wildly,  and  so  well, 
You  might  be  thus  impatient.     What 's  conceived 
Of  us  without  here,  by  the  folks  within  ? 
Where  are  you  now  9  immersed  in  cares  of  state  — 
Where  am  I  now  ?  —  intent  on  festal  robes  — 
We  two,  embracing  under  death's  spread  hand ! 
What  was  this  thought  for,  what  this  scruple  of  ycura 
Which  broke  the  council  up,  to  bring  about 
One  minute's  meeting  in  the  corridor  ? 
And  then  the  sudden  sleights,  long  secresies, 
The  plots  inscrutable,  deep  telegraphs, 
Long-planned  chance-meetings,  hazards  of  a  look, 
"  Does  she  know  ?  does  she  not  know?  saved  or  lost?" 
A  year  of  this  compassion's  ecstasy 
All  goes  for  nothing  ?  you  would  give  this  up 
For  the  old  way,  the  open  way,  the  world's, 
His  way  who  beats,  and  his  who  sells  his  wife  ? 
What  tempts  you  ?  their  notorious  happiness, 
That  you  're  ashamed  of  ours  ?     The  best  you  '11  get 
Will  be,  the  Queen  grants  all  that  you  require, 
Concedes  the  cousin,  and  gets  rid  of  you 
And  her  at  once,  and  gives  us  ample  leave 
To  live  as  our  five  hundred  happy  friends. 
The  world  will  show  us  with  officious  hand 
Our  chamber-entry  and  stand  sentinel, 
When  we  so  oft  have  stolen  across  her  traps  ! 
Set  the  world's  warrant,  ring  the  falcon's  foot, 
make  it  duty  to  be  bold  an-i  swift, 
15 


J526  IN    A.    BALCONY. 

When  long  ago  'twas  nature.     Have  it  so  ! 
He  never  hawked  by  rights  till  flung  from  fist  ? 
Oh,  the  man's  thought !  —  no  woman 's  such  a  fool. 


Yes,  the  man's  thought  and  my  thought,  which  is  more— > 

One  made  to  love  you,  let  the  world  take  note. 

Have  I  done  worthy  work  ?  be  love's  the  praise, 

Though  hampered  by  restrictions,  barred  against 

By  set  forms,  blinded  by  forced  secresies. 

Set  free  my  love,  and  see  what  love  will  do 

Shown  in  my  life  —  what  work  will  spring  from  that 

The  world  is  used  to  have  its  business  done 

On  other  grounds,  find  great  effects  produced 

For  power's  sake,  fame's  sake,  motives  you  have  named 

So  good.     But  let  my  low  ground  shame  their  high. 

Truth  is  the  strong  thing.     Let  man's  life  be  true ! 

And  love 's  the  truth  of  mine.     Tune  prove  the  rest ! 

I  choose  to  have  you  stamped  all  over  me, 

Tour  name  upon  my  forehead  and  my  breast, 

You,  from  the  sword's  blade  to  the  ribbon's  edge, 

That  men  may  see,  all  over,  you  in  me  — 

That  pale  loves  may  die  out  of  their  pretence 

In  face  of  mine,  shames  thrown  on  love  fall  off" — 

Permit  this,  Constance  !     Love  has  been  so  long 

Subdued  in  me,  eating  me  through  and  through, 

That  now  it 's  all  of  me  and  must  have  way. 

Think  of  my  work,  that  chaos  of  intrigues, 

Those  hopes  and  fears,  surprises  and  delays, 


IN    A    BALCONT. 

That  long  endeavour,  earnest,  patient,  slow, 

Trembling  at  last  to  its  assured  result  — 

Then  think  of  this  revulsion.     I  resume 

Life,  after  death,  (it  is  no  less  than  life 

After  such  long  unlovely  labouring  days) 

And  liberate  to  beauty  life's  great  need 

Of  the  beautiful,  which,  while  it  prompted  work, 

Supprest  itself  erewhile.     This  eve  's  the  time  — 

This  eve  intense  with  yon  first  trembling  star 

We  seem  to  pant  and  reach  ;  scarce  aught  between 

The  earth  that  rises  and  the  heaven  that  bends  — 

All  nature  self-abandoned  —  every  tree 

Flung  as  it  will,  pursuing  its  own  thoughts 

And  fixed  so,  every  flower  and  every  weed, 

No  pride,  no  shame,  no  victory,  no  defeat : 

All  under  God,  each  measured  by  itself! 

These  statues  round  us,  each  abrupt,  distinct, 

The  strong  hi  strength,  the  weak  in  weakness  fixed, 

The  Muse  forever  wedded  to  her  lyre, 

The  Nymph  to  her  fawn,  the  Silence  to  her  rose, 

And  God's  approval  on  his  universe  ! 

Let  us  do  so  — aspire  to  live  as  these 

In  harmony  with  truth,  ourselves  being  true. 

Take  the  first  way,  and  let  the  second  come. 

My  first  is  to  possess  myself  of  you ; 

The  music  sets  the  march-step  — forward  then  ! 

And  there  's  the  Queen,  I  go  to  claim  you  of, 

The  world  to  witness,  wonder  and  applaud. 

Our  flower  of  life  breaks  open.     No  delay  1 


228  IN   A    BALCOXY. 

CONSTANCE. 

And  so  shall  we  be  ruined,  both  of  us. 

Norbert,  I  know  her  to  the  skin  and  bone  — 

You  do  not  know  her,  were  not  born  to  it, 

To  feel  what  she  can  see  or  cannot  see. 

Love,  she  is  generous,  —  ay,  despite  your  smile, 

Generous  as  you  are.     For,  in  that  thin  frame 

Pain-twisted,  punctured  through  and  through  with  cares 

There  lived  a  lavish  soul  until'  it  starved 

Debarred  all  healthy  food.     Look  to  the  soul  — 

Pity  that,  stoop  to  that,  ere  you  begin 

(The  true  man's  way)  on  justice  and  your  rights, 

Exactions  and  acquittance  of  the  past 

Begin  so  —  see  what  justice  she  will  deal ! 

We  women  hate  a  debt  as  men  a  gift. 

Suppose  her  some  poor  keeper  of  a  school 

Whose  business  is  to  sit  thro'  summer-months 

And  dole  out  children's  leave  to  go  and  play, 

Herself  superior  to  such  lightness  —  she 

In  the  arm-chair's  state  and  paedagogic  pomp, 

To  the  life,  the  laughter,  sun  and  youth  outside  — 

We  wonder  such  an  one  looks  black  on  us  ? 

I  do  not  bid  you  wake  her  tenderness, 

—  That  were  vain  truly  —  none  is  left  to  wake  — 

But,  let  her  think  her  justice  is  engaged 

To  take  the  shape  of  tenderness,  and  mark 

If  she  '11  not  coldly  do  its  warmest  deed  ! 

Does  she  love  me,  I  ask  you  ?  not  a  whit. 

Tet,  thinking  that  her  justice  was  engaged 


IN    A    BALCONY.  228 

To  help  a  kinswoman,  she  took  me  up  — 

Did  more  on  that  bare  ground  than  other  love* 

Would  do  on  greater  argument.     For  me, 

I  have  no  equivalent  of  that  cold  kind 

To  pay  her  with  ;  my  love  alone  to  give 

If  I  give  any  thing.     I  give  her  love. 

I  feel  I  ought  to  help  her,  and  I  will. 

So  for  her  sake,  as  yours,  I  tell  you  twice 

That  women  hate  a  lebt  as  men  a  gift. 

If  I  were  you,  I  could  obtain  this  grace  —  % 

Would  lay  the  whole  I  did  to  love's  account, 

Nor  yet  be  very  false  as  courtiers  go  — 

Declare  that  my  success  was  recompense  ; 

It  would  be  so,  in  fact :  what  were  it  else  ? 

And  then,  once  loosed  her  generosity 

As  you  will  mark  it  —  then,  —  were  I  but  you 

To  turn  it,  let  it  seem  to  move  itself, 

And  make  it  give  the  thing  I  really  take, 

Accepting  so,  in  the  poor  cousin's  hand, 

All  value  as  the  next  thing  to  the  queen  — 

Since  none  loves  her  directly,  none  dares  that  I 

A  shadow  of  a  thing,  a  name's  mere  echo 

Suffices  those  who  miss  the  name  and  thing ; 

You  pick  up  just  a  ribbon  she  has  worn 

To  keep  in  proof  how  near  her  breath  you  came 

Say  I  'm  so  near  I  seem  a  piece  of  her  — 

A.sk  for  me  that  way  —  (oh,  you  understand) 

And  find  the  same  gift  yielded  with  a  grace. 

Wliich  if  you  make  the  least  show  to  extort 


230  IN    A    BALCONY. 

—  You  '11  see !  and  when  you  have  ruined  both  of  us, 
Disertate  on  the  Queen's  ingratitude  ! 

NORBERl . 

Then,  if  I  turn  it  that  way,  you  consent  ? 
'Tis  not  my  way ;  I  have  more  hope  in  truth. 
Still,  if  you  won't  have  truth  —  why,  this  indeed, 
Is  scarcely  false,  I  '11  so  express  the  sense. 
Will  you  remain  here  ? 

CONSTANCE. 

O  best  heart  of  mine, 

How  I  have  loved  you  !  then,  you  take  my  way  ? 
Are  mine  as  you  have  been  her  minister, 
Work  out  my  thought,  give  it  effect  for  me, 
Paint  plain  my  poor  conceit  and  make  it  serve  ? 
I  owe  that  withered  woman  every  thing  — 
Life,  fortune,  you,  remember  !     Take  my  part  — 
Help  me  to  pay  her  !     Stand  upon  your  rights  ? 
You,  with  my  rose,  my  hands,  my  heart  on  you  ? 
Your  rights  are  mine  —  you  have  no  rights  but  mine. 


Remain  here.     How  you  know  me  ! 

CONSTANCE. 

Ah,  but  still 

(He  breaks  from  her :  slie  remains.     Dance-mutit 
from  within. 


SECOND  i-ABT. 

Enter  the 


QUEEN. 

Constance  '  —  She  is  here  as  he  said.     Speak  !  quick  1 
fs  it  so  ?  is  it  true  —  or  false  ?     One  word  ! 

CONSTANCK. 

True. 

QUEEN. 

Mercifullest  Mother,  thanks  to  thee  ! 

CONSTANCE. 

Madam  ! 

QCEES 

I  love  you,  Constance,  from  my  soul. 
Now  say  once  more,  with  any  words  you  will, 
Tis  true  —  all  true  —  as  true  as  that  I  speak. 


232  IX    A    BALCONY. 

• 

CONSTANCE. 

Wh y  should  you  doubt  it  ? 

QUEEN. 

Ah,  why  doubt  ?   why  doubt  r 
Dear,  make  me  see  it.     Do  you  see  it  so  ? 
None  see  themselves  —  another  sees  them  best. 
You  say  "  why  doubt  it  ?  "  —  you  see  him  and  me. 
It  is  because  the  Mother  has  such  grace 
That  if  we  had  but  faith  — wherein  we  fail  — 
Whate'er  we  yearn  for  would  be  granted  us  ; 
Howbeit  we  let  our  whims  prescribe  despair, 
Our  very  fancies  thwart  and  cramp  our  will, 
And  so  accepting  life,  abjure  ourselves  I 
Constance,  I  had  abjured  the  hope  of  lovo 
And  of  being  loved,  as  truly  as  yon  palm 
The  hope  of  seeing  Egypt  from  that  turf. 

CONSTANCE. 

Heaven ! 

QUEEN. 

But  it  was  so,  Constance,  it  was  so. 
Men  say  —  or  do  men  say  it  ?  fancies  say  — 
"  Stop  here,  your  life  is  set,  you  are  grown  old. 
Too  late  —  no  love  for  you,  too  late  for  love  — 
Leave  love  to  girls.     Be  queen  —  let  Constance  love  I  * 
One  takes  the  hint  —  half  meets  it  like  a  child, 
Ashamed  at  any  feelings  that  oppose. 


IN    A.    BALCONT.  233 

r  Oh,  love,  true,  never  think  of  love  again  ! 
I  am  a  queen  —  I  rule,  not  love,  indeed." 
So  it  goes  on  ;  so  a  face  grows  like  this, 
Hair  like  this  hair,  poor  arms  as  lean  as  these, 
Till,  —  nay,  it  does  not  end  so,  I  thank  God  ! 

CONSTANCE. 

I  cannot  understand 

QUEEN. 

The  happier  you ! 

Constance,  I  know  not  how  it  is  with  men. 
For  women,  (I  am  a  woman  now  like  you) 
There  is  no  good  of  life  but  love  —  but  love ! 
What  else  looks  good,  is  some  shade  flung  from  love  — 
Love  gilds  it,  gives  it  worth.     Be  warned  by  me, 
Never  you  cheat  yourself  one  instant.     Love, 
Give  love,  ask  only  love,  and  leave  the  rest ! 

0  Constance,  how  I  love  you  ! 

CONSTANCE. 

I  love  you. 

QUEEN. 

1  do  believe  that  all  is  come  through  you. 
I  took  you  to  my  heart  to  keep  it  warm 

When  the  last  chance  of  love  seemed  dead  in. me  ; 
I  thought  your  fresh  youth  wanned  my  withered  h' 


234  IN    A    BALCONT. 

Oh,  I  am  very  old  now,  am  I  not  ? 
Not  so  !  it  is  true  and  it  shall  be  true  ! 

CONSTANCE. 

Tell  it  me !  let  me  judge  if  true  or  false. 

QUEEN. 

Ah,  but  I  fear  you  —  you  will  look  at  me 
And  say  "  she  's  old,  she  's  grown  unlovely  quite 
Who  ne'er  was  beauteous !  men  want  beauty  still." 
Well,  so  I  feared  —  the  curse !  so  I  felt  sure. 

CONSTANCE. 

Be  calm.     And  now  you  feel  not  sure,  you  say  ? 

QUEEN. 

Constance,  he  came,  the  coming  was  not  strange  — 
Do  not  I  stand  and  see  men  come  and  go  ? 
I  turned  a  half-look  from  my  pedestal 
Where  I  grow  marble  —  "  one  young  man  the  more  1 
He  will  love  some  one,  —  that  is  nought  to  me  — 
What  would  he  with  my  marble  stateliness  ?  " 
Yet  this  seemed  somewhat  worse  than  heretofore  ; 
The  man  more  gracious,  youthful,  like  a  god, 
And  I  still  older,  with  less  flesh  to  change  — 
We  two  those  dear  extremes  that  long  to  touch. 
It  seemed  still  harder  when  he  first  began 
Absorbed  to  labour  at  the  state-affairs 


IN    A    BALCONY.  235 

The  old  way  for  the  old  end,  interest. 

Oh.  to  live  with  a  thousand  beating  hearts 

Around  you,  swift  eyes,  serviceable  hands, 

Professing  they  've  no  care  but  for  your  cause, 

Thought  but  to  help  you,  love  but  for  yourself, 

And  you  the  marble  statue  all  the  time 

They  praise  and  point  at  as  preferred  to  life, 

Yet  leave  for  the  first  breathing  woman's  cheek, 

First  dancer's,  gypsy's,  or  street  baladine's  ! 

Why,  how  I  have  ground  my  teeth  to  hear  men't  speech 

Stifled  for  fear  it  should  alarm  my  ear, 

Their  gait  subdued  lest  step  should  startle  me, 

Their  eyes  declined,  such  queendom  to  respect, 

Their  hands  alert,  such  treasure  to  preserve, 

While  not  a  man  of  these  broke  rank  and  spoke, 

Or  wrote  me  a  vulgar  letter  all  of  love, 

Or  caught  my  hand  and  pressed  it  like  a  hand. 

There  have  been  moments,  if  the  sentinel 

Lowering  his  halbert  to  salute  the  queen, 

Had  flung  it  brutally  and  clasped  my  knees, 

I  would  have  stooped  and  kissed  him  with  my  soul. 

CONSTANCE. 

Who  could  have  comprehended ! 

QUEEN. 

Ay,  who  —  who  ? 

Why,  no  one,  Constance,  but  this  one  who  did. 
Not  they,  not  you,  not  I.     Even  now  perhaps 
It  comes  too  late —  would  you  but  tell  the  truth. 


236  I>    A    BALCONY. 

CONSTANCE 

I  wait  to  tell  rt. 

QUEEN. 

Well,  you  see,  he  came, 
Outfaced  the  others,  did  a  work  this  year 
Exceeds  in  value  all  was  ever  done 
You  know  —  it  is  not  I  who  say  it  —  all 
Say  it.     And  so  (a  second  pang  and  worse) 
I  grew  aware  not  only  of  what  he  did, 
But  why  so  wondrously.     Oh,  never  work 
Like  his  was  done  for  work's  ignoble  sake  — 
It  must  have  finer  aims  to  spur  it  on  ! 
I  felt,  I  saw  he  loved  —  loved  somebody. 
And  Constance,  my  dear  Constance,  do  you  know. 
I  did  believe  this  while  'twas  you  he  loved. 

CONSTANCE. 

Me,  madam  ? 

QUEEN. 

It  did  seem  to  me  your  face 
Met  him  where'er  he  looked  :  and  whom  but  you 
Was  such  a  man  to  love  ?  it  seemed  to  me 
You  saw  he  loved  you,  and  approved  the  love, 
And  that  you  both  were  in  intelligence. 
You  could  not  loiter  in  the  garden,  step 
Into  this  balcony,  but  I  straight  was  stung 
And  forced  to  understand.     It  seemed  so  true, 


IN    A    BALCONY.  23< 

So  right,  so  beautiful,  so  like  you  both 

That  all  this  work  should  have  been  done  by  him 

Not  for  the  vulgar  hope  of  recompense, 

But  that  at  la<t  —  suppose  some  night  like  this  — 

Borne  on  to  claim  his  due  reward  of  me 

He  might  say,  "  Give  her  hand  and  pay  me  so." 

And  I  (O  Constance,  you  shall  love  me  now) 

I  thought,  surmounting  all  the  bitterness, 

—  "  And  he  shall  have  it.     I  will  make  her  blest, 

My  flower  of  youth,  my  woman's  self  that  was, 

My  happiest  woman's  self  that  might  have  been ! 

These  two  shall  have  their  joy  and  leave  me  here." 

Yes  —  yes  — 

CONSTANCB. 

Thanks! 

QUEEN. 

And  the  word  was  on  my  lips 
When  he  burst  in  upon  me.     I  looked  to  hear 
A  mere  calm  statement  of  his  just  desire 
In  payment  of  his  labour.     When,  O  Heaven, 
How  can  I  tell  you  ?  cloud  was  on  my  eyes 
And  thunder  in  my  ears  at  that  first  word 
Which  told  'twas  love  of  me,  of  me,  did  all  — 
^[e  loved  me  —  from  the  first  step  to  the  last, 
Loved  me  ! 

CONSTANCE. 

You  did  not  hear  .  .  .  you  thought  he  spoke 
Of  love  ?  what  if  you  should  mistake  ? 


238  IN    A   BALCONY. 

QUKKN. 

No,  no— < 

No  mistake  !     Ha,  there  shall  be  no  mistake  ! 

He  had  not  dared  to  hint  the  love  he  felt  — 

You  were  my  reflex  —  how  I  understood  ! 

He  said  you  were  the  ribbon  I  had  worn, 

He  kissed  my  hand,  he  looked  into  my  eyes, 

And  love,  love  was  the  end  of  every  phrase. 

Love  is  begun  —  this  much  is  come  to  pass, 

The  rest  is  easy.     Constance,  I  am  yours  — 

I  will  learn,  I  will  place  my  life  on  you, 

But  teach  me  how  to  keep  what  I  have  won. 

Am  I  so  old  ?  this  hair  was  early  gray  ; 

But  joy  ere  now  has  brought  hair  brown  again, 

And  joy  will  bring  the  cheek's  red  back,  I  feel. 

I  could  sing  once  too  ;  that  was  in  my  youth. 

Still,  when  men  paint  me,  they  declare  me  .  .  .  yes. 

Beautiful  —  for  the  last  French  painter  did  ! 

I  know  they  flatter  somewhat  ;  you  are  frank  — 

I  trust  you.     How  I  loved  you  from  the  first ! 

Some  queens  would  hardly  seek  a  cousin  out 

And  set  her  by  their  side  to  take  the  eye  : 

I  must  have  felt  that  good  would  come  from  you. 

I  am  not  generous  —  like  him  —  like  you  ! 

But  he  is  not  your  lover  after  all  — 

[t  was  not  you  he  looked  at.     Saw  you  him  ? 

You  have  not  been  mistaking  words  or  looks  ? 

He  said  you  were  the  reflex  of  myself  — 

And  yet  he  is  not  such  a  paragon 

To  you,  to  younger  women  who  may  choose 


IN    A    BALCONY.  239 

Among  a  thousand  Norberts.     Speak  the  truth  ! 
You  know  you  never  named  his  name  to  me  — 
You  know,  I  cannot  give  him  up  —  ah  God. 
Not  up  now,  even  to  you  ' 

COH8TANCE. 

Then  calm  yourself. 

QUEEN. 

See,  I  am  old  —  look  here,  you  happy  girl, 
I  will  not  play  the  fool,  deceive  myself ; 
'Tis  all  gone  —  put  your  cheek  beside  my  cheek  — 
Ah,  what  a  contrast  does  the  moon  behold  ! 
But  then  I  set  my  life  upon  one  chance, 
The  last  chance  and  the  best  —  am  /not  left, 
My  soul,  myself?     All  women  love  great  men 
If  young  or  old  —  it  is  in  all  the  tales  — 
Young  beauties  love  old  poets  who  can  love  — 
Why  should  not  he  the  poems  in  my  soul, 
The  love,  the  passionate  faith,  the  sacrifice, 
The  constancy  ?     I  throw  them  at  his  feet. 
Who  cares  to  see  the  fountain's  very  shape 
And  whether  it  be  a  Triton's  or  a  Nymph's 
That  pours  the  foam,  makes  rainbows  all  around? 
You  could  not  praise  indeed  the  empty  conch ; 
But  I  '11  pour  floods  of  love  and  hide  myself, 
flow  I  will  love  him  !  cannot  men  love  love  5 
Who  was  a  queen  and  loved  a  poet  once 
Humpbacked,  a  dwarf?  ah,  women  can  do  that  I 


240  IN    A    BALCONY. 

Well,  but  men  too !  at  least,  they  tell  you  so. 
They  love  so  many  women  in  their  youth, 
And  even  in  age  they  all  love  whom  they  please ; 
And  yet  the  best  of  them  confide  to  friends 
That  'tis  not  beauty  makes  the  lasting  love  — 
They  spend  a  day  with  such  and  tire  the  next ; 
They  like  soul,  —  well  then,  they  like  phantasy, 
Novelty  even.     Let  us  confess  the  truth 
Horrible  though  it  be  —  that  prejudice, 
Prescription  .  .  .  Curses  !  they  will  love  a  queen. 
They  will  —  they  do.     And  will  not,  does  not  —  he  ? 

CONSTANCE. 

How  can  he  ?  You  are  wedded  —  'tis  a  name 
We  know,  but  still  a  bond.     Your  rank  remains, 
His  rank  remains.     How  can  he,  nobly  souled 
As  you  believe  and  I  incline  to  think, 
Aspire  to  be  your  favourite,  shame  and  all  ? 

QUEEN. 

Hear  her  !  there,  there  now  —  could  she  love  like  me  ? 

What  did  I  say  of  smooth-cheeked  youth  and  grace  ? 

See  all  it  does  or  could  do !  so,  youth  loves  ! 

Oh,  tell  him,  Constance,  you  could  never  do 

What  I  will  —  you,  it  was  not  born  in  !  I 

Will  drive  these  difficulties  far  and  fast 

A.S  yonder  mists  curdling  before  the  moon. 

I  '11  use  my  light  too,  gloriously  retrieve 

My  youth  from  its  enforced  calamity, 


IN    A    BALCONY.  3Mi 

Dissolve  that  hateful  marriage,  and  be  his, 
His  own  in  the  eyes  alike  of  God  and  man. 

CONSTANCE. 

You  will  do  —  dare  do  —  Pause  on  what  you  say  ! 

QUEEN. 

Hear  her !  I  thank  you,  Sweet,  for  that  surprise. 
You  have  the  fair  face  :  for  the  soul,  see  mine  ! 
I  have  the  strong,  soul :  let  me  teach  you,  here. 
I  think  I  have  borne  enough  and  long  enough, 
And  patiently  enough,  the  world  remarks, 
To  have  my  own  way  now,  unblamed  by  alL 
It  does  so  happen,  I  rejoice  for  it, 
This  most  unhoped-for  issue  cuts  the  knot. 
There 's  not  a  better  way  of  settling  claims 
Than  this  ;  God  sends  the  accident  express ; 
And  were  it  for  my  subjects'  good,  no  more, 
'Twere  best  thus  ordered.     I  am  thankful  now, 
Mute,  passive,  acquiescent.     I  receive, 
And  bless  God  simply,  or  should  almost  fear 
To  walk  so  smoothly  to  my  ends  at  last. 
Why,  how  I  baffle  obstacles,  spurn  fate ! 
How  strong  I  am !  could  Norbert  see  ma  now ! 

CONSTANCE. 

Let  me  consider.     It  is  all  too  strange. 
16 


242  IN    A.    BALCONY. 

QUEEN. 

You,  Constance,  learn  of  me  ;  do  you,  like  me. 
You  art?  young,  beautiful :  my  owa,  best  girl, 
You  will  have  many  lovers,  and  love  one  — 
Light  hair,  not  hair  like  Norbert's,  to  suit  yours, 
And  taller  than  he  is,  for  you  are  tall. 
Love  him  like  me  !  give  all  away  to  him ; 
Think  never  of  yourself;  throw  by  your  pride, 
Hope,  fear,  —  your  own  good  as  you  saw  it  once, 
And  love  him  simply  for  his  very  selft 
Remember,  I  (and  what  am  I  to  you  ?) 
Would  give  up  all  for  one,  leave  throne,  lose  life, 
Do  all  but  just  unlove  him  !  he  loves  me. 

CONSTANCE. 

He  shall. 

QUEEN. 

You,  step  inside  my  inmost  heart. 
Give  me  your  own  heart  —  let  us  have  one  heart  — 
I  '11  come  to  you  for  counsel ;  "  This  he  says, 
This  he  does,  what  should  this  amount  to,  pray  ? 
Beseech  you,  change  it  into  current  coin. 
Is  that  worth  kisses  ?  shall  I  please  him  there  ?  " 
And  then  we  '11  speak  in  turn  of  you  —  what  else '( 
Your  love  (according  to  your  beauty's  worth) 
For  you  shall  have  some  noble  love,  all  gold  — 
Whom  choose  you  ?  we  will  get  him  at  your  choice. 


IN    A    BALCONY.  243 

—  Constance,  I  leave  you.    Just  a  minute  since 

I  felt  as  I  must  die  or  be  alone 

Breathing  my  soul  into  an  ear  like  yours. 

Now,  I  would  face  the  world  with  my  new  life, 

With  my  new  crown.     I  '11  walk  around  the  rooms, 

And  then  come  back  and  tell  you  how  it  feels. 

How  soon  a  smile  of  God  can  change  the  world ! 

How  we  are  all  made  for  happiness  —  how  work 

Grows  play,  adversity  a  winning  fight ! 

True,  I  have  lost  so  many  years.     What  then  ? 

Many  remain  —  God  has  been  very  good. 

You,  stay  here.     'Tis  as  different  from  dreams,  — 

From  the  mind's  cold  calm  estimate  of  bliss, 

As  these  stone  statues  from  the  flesh  and  blood. 

The  comfort  thou  hast  caused  mankind,  God's  moon  1 

[She  goes  out.    Dance-music  from  tottitn 


NORBEET. 

Well  1  we  have  but  one  minute  and  one  word  — — 

OONSTAHCB. 

I  am  yours,  Norbert  I 

NORBERT. 

Yes,  mine. 

CONSTANCE. 

Not  till  now 
You  were  mine.     Now  I  give  myself  to  you. 


Constance ! 

CONSTANCE. 

Your  own !  I  know  the  thriftier  way 
Oi  giving  —  haply,  'tis  the  wiser  way. 


m  A  BA.LCONT.  245 

Meaning  to  give  a  treasure,  I  might  dole 

Coin  after  coin  out  (each,  as  that  were  all, 

With  a  new  largess  still  at  each  despair) 

And  force  you  keep  in  sight  the  deed,  reserve 

Exhaustless  till  the  end  my  part  and  yours, 

My  giving  and  your  taking,  both  our  joys 

Dying  together.     Is  it  the  wiser  way  ? 

I  choose  the  simpler ;  I  give  all  at  once. 

Know  what  you  have  to  trust  to,  trade  upon. 

Use  it,  abuse  it,  —  any  thing  but  say 

Hereafter,  "  Had  I  known  she  loved  me  so, 

•And  what  my  means,  I  might  have  thriven  with  it." 

This  is  your  means.     I  give  you  all  myself. 


I  take  you  and  thank  God. 

CONSTANCE. 

Look  on  through  years  I 
We  cannot  kiss  a  second  day  like  this, 
Else  were  this  earth,  no  earth. 

NORBEBT. 

With  this  day's  he* 
We  shall  go  on  through  years  of  cold. 

CON STANCE. 

So  beat 
I  try  to  see  those  years  —  I  think  I  see. 


246  IN    A   BALCONT. 

You  walk  quick  and  new  warmth  comes ;  you  look  back 

And  lay  all  to  the  first  glow  —  not  sit  down 

Forever  brooding  on  a  day  like  this 

While  seeing  the  embers  whiten  and  love  die. 

Yes,  love  lives  best  in  its  effect ;  and  mine, 

Full  in  its  own  life,  yearns  to  live  in  yours. 


Just  so.     I  take  and  know  you  all  at  once. 

Your  soul  is  disengaged  so  easily, 

Your  face  is  there,  I  know  you  ;  give  me  time, 

Let  me  be  proud  and  think  you  shall  know  me. 

My  soul  is  slower :  in  a  life  I  roll 

The  minute  out  in  which  you  condense  yours  — 

The  whole  slow  circle  round  you  I  must  move, 

To  be  just  you.     I  look  to  a  long  life 

To  decompose  this  minute,  prove  its  worth. 

'Tis  the  sparks'  long  succession  one  by  one 

Shall  show  you  in  the  end  what  fire  was  crammed 

In  that  mere  stone  you  struck :  you  could  not  know, 

If  it  lay  ever  unproved  hi  your  sight, 

As  now  my  heart  lies  ?  your  own  warmth  would  hide 

Its  coldness,  were  it  cold. 

CONSTANCE. 

But  how  prove,  how  ? 

NORBERT. 

Prove  in  my  life,  you  ask  ? 


IN    A    BALCONY.  247 

CONSTANCE. 

Quick,  Norbert — how? 

NORBEBT. 

rhat  's  easy  told.     I  count  life  just  a  stuff 

To  try  the  soul's  strength  on,  educe  the  man. 

Who  keeps  one  end  in  view  makes  all  things  serve. 

As  with  the  body  —  he  who  hurls  a  lance 

Or  heaps  up  stone  on  stone,  shows  strength  alike, 

So  I  will  seize  and  use  all  means  to  prove 

And  show  this  soul  of  mine  you  crown  as  yours, 

And  justify  us  both. 

CONSTANCE. 

Could  you  write  books, 
Paint  pictures  !  one  sits  down  in  poverty 
And  writes  or  paints,  with  pity  for  the  rich. 

NORBERT. 

And  loves  one's  painting  and  one's  writing  too, 
And  not  one's  mistress  !     All  is  best,  believe, 
And  we  best  as  no  other  than  we  are. 
We  live,  and  they  experiment  on  life 
Those  poets,  painters,  all  who  stand  aloof 
To  overlook  the  farther      Let  us  be 
The  thing  they  look  at !     I  might  take  that  face 
And  write  of  it  and  paint  it  —  to  what  end  ? 
For  whom  ?  what  pale  dictatress  in  the  air 
Feeds,  smiling  sadly,  her  fine  ghost-like  form 


248  iN    A    BALCONY. 

With  earth's  real  blood  and  breath,  the  beauteous  life 
She  makes  despised  forever  ?     You  are  mine, 
Made  for  me,  not  for  others  in  the  world, 
Nor  yet  for  that  which  I  should  call  my  art, 
That  cold  calm  power  to  see  how  fair  you  look. 
I  come  to  you  —  I  leave  you  not,  to  write 
Or  paint.     You  are,  I  am.     Let  Rubens  there 
Paint  us. 

CONSTANCE. 

So  best ! 

NORBERT. 

I  understand  your  souL 
You  live,  and  rightly  sympathize  with  life, 
With  action,  power,  success  :  this  way  is  straight- 
And  days  were  short  beside,  to  let  me  change 
The  craft  my  childhood  learnt ;  my  craft  shall  serve 
Men  set  me  here  to  subjugate,  inclose, 
Manure  their  barren  lives  and  force  the  fruit 
First  for  themselves,  and  afterward  for  me 
In  the  due  tithe  ;  the  task  of  some  one  man, 
By  ways  of  work  appointed  by  themselves. 
I  am  not  bid  create^  they  see  no  star 
Transfiguring  my  brow  to  warrant  that  — 
But  bind  in  one  and  carry  out  their  wills. 
So  I  began  :  to-night  sees  how  I  end. 
What  if  it  see,  too,  my  first  outbreak  here 
the  warmth,  surprise  and  sympathy, 


IN    A    BALCONY.  2 

The  instincts  of  the  heart  that  teach  the  head  ? 

What  if  the  people  have  discerned  in  me 

The  dawn  of  the  next  nature,  the  new  man 

Whose  will  they  venture  in  the  place  of  them 

And  whom  they  trust  to  find  them  out  new  wajs 

To  the  new  heights  which  yet  he  only  sees  ? 

I  felt  it  when  you  kissed  me.     See  this  Queen, 

This  people  —  in  our  phrase,  this  mass  of  men  ~ 

See  how  the  mass  lies  passive  to  my  hand 

And  how  my  hand  is  plastic,  and  you  by 

To  make  the  muscles  iron  !     Oh,  an  end 

Shall  crown  this  issue  as  this  crowns  the  first. 

My  will  be  on  this  people !  then,  the  strain. 

The  grappling  of  the  potter  with  his  clay, 

The  long  uncertain  struggle,  —  the  success 

In  that  uprising  of  the  spirit-work, 

The  vase  shaped  to  the  curl  of  the  god's  lip, 

While  rounded  fair  for  lower  men  to  see 

The  Graces  in  a  dance  they  recognize 

With  turbulent  applause  and  laughs  of  heart  f 

So  triumph  ever  shall  renew  itself ; 

Ever  to  end  in  efforts  higher  yet, 

Ever  begun  

CONSTANCE. 

I  ever  helping? 

NOBBERT. 

Thus! 
[As  he  embraces  her,  enter  the  QUEEN 


250  IN   A   BALCONY. 

CONSTANCE. 

Hist,  madam  —  so  I  have  performed  my  part, 
You  see  your  gratitude's  true  decency, 
Nbrbert  ?  a  little  slow  in  seeing  it ! 
Begun  to  end  the  sooner.     What 's  a  kiss  ? 


Constance ! 

CONSTANCE. 

Why,  must  I  teach  it  you  again  t 
You  want  a  witness  to  your  dulness,  sir  ? 
What  was  I  saying  these  ten  minutes  long  ? 
Then  I  repeat  —  when  some  young  handsome  man 
Like  you  has  acted  out  a  part  like  yours, 
Is  pleased  to  fall  in  love  with  one  beyond. 
So  very  far  beyond  him,  as  he  says  — 
So  hopelessly  hi  love,  that  but  to  speak 
Would  prove  him  mad,  he  thinks  judiciously, 
And  makes  some  insignificant  good  soul 
Like  me,  his  friend,  adviser,  confidant 
And  very  stalking-horse  to  cover  him 
In  following  after  what  he  dares  not  face  — 
When  his 'end  's  gained  —  (sir,  do  you  understand  ?) 
When  she,  he  dares  not  face,  has  loved  him  first, 
—  May  I  not  say  so,  madam  ?  —  tops  his  hope, 
And  overpasses  so  his  wildest  dream, 
With  glad  consent  of  all,  and  most  of  her 
The  confidant  who  brought  the  same  about  — 


IN    A    BALCONY.  251 

Why,  in  the  moment  when  such  joy  explodes, 
I  do  say  that  the  merest  gentleman 
Will  not  start  rudely  from  the  stalking-horse, 
Dismiss  it  with  a  "  There,  enough  of  you  ! " 
Forget  it,  show  his  back  unmannerly ; 
But  like  a  liberal  heart  will  rather  turn 
And  say,  "  A  tingling  tune  of  hope  was  ours  — 
Betwixt  the  fears  and  faulterings  —  we  two  lived 
A  chanceful  time  in  waiting  for  the  prize. 
The  confidant,  the  Constance,  served  not  ill ; 
And  though  I  shall  forget  her  in  due  tune, 
Her  use  being  answered  now,  as  reason  bids, 
Nay  as  herself  bids  from  her  heart  of  hearts, 
Still,  she  has  rights,  the  first  thanks  go  to  her, 
The  first  good  praise  goes  to  the  prosperous  tool, 
And  the  first —  which  is  the  last  —  thankful  kiss." 

NORBERT. 

—  Constance  ?  it  is  a  dream  —  ah  see  you  smile  .' 

CONSTANCE. 

So,  now  his  part  being  properly  performed, 

Madam,  I  turn  to  you  and  finish  mine 

As  duly  —  I  do  justice  in  my  turn. 

Yes,  madam,  he  has  loved  you  —  long  and  well  — 

He  could  not  hope  to  tell  you  so  —  'twas  I 

Who  served  to  prove  your  soul  accessible. 

[  led  his  thoughts  on,  drew  them  to  their  place, 

When  oft  they  had  wandered  out  into  despair. 


252  IN    A   BALCONY. 

And  kept  love  constant  toward  its  natural  aim 
Enough  —  my  part  is  played ;  you  stoop  half-way 
And  meet  us  royally  and  spare  our  fears  — 
'Tis  like  yourself — he  thanks  you,  so  do  I 
Take  him  —  with  my  full  heart !  my  work  is  praised 
By  what  comes  of  it.     Be  you  happy,  both ! 
Yourself  —  the  only  one  on  earth  who  can  — 
Do  all  for  him,  much  more  than  a  mere  heart 
Which  though  warm  is  not  useful  in  its  warmth 
As  the  silk  vesture  of  a  queen  !  fold  that 
Around  him  gently,  tenderly.     For  him  — 
For  him,  —  he  knows  his  own  part. 


Have  you  done  ? 

I  take  the  jest  at  last.     Should  I  speak  now  ? 
Was  yours  the  wager,  Constance,  foolish  child, 
Or  did  you  but  accept  it  ?     Well  —  at  least, 
You  lose  by  it. 

^CONSTANCE. 

Now  madam,  'tis  your  turn. 
Restrain  him  still  from  speech  a  little  more 
And  make  him  happier  and  more  confident ! 
Pity  him,  madam,  he  is  timid  yet 
Mark,  Norbert  !  do  not  shrink  now  !     Here  I  yield 
My  whole  right  in  you  to  the  Queen,  observe  ! 
With  her  go  put  in  practice  the  great  schemes 
You  teem  with,  follow  the  career  else  closed  — 


IN   A    BALCONY.  253 

Be  all  you  cannot  be  except  by  her ! 
Behold  her.  —  Madam,  say  for  pity's  sake 
Any  thing  —  frankly  say  you  love  him.     Else 
He  '11  not  believe  it :  there 's  more  earnest  in 
His  fear  than  you  conceive  —  I  know  the  man. 


I  know  the  woman  somewhat,  and  confess 
I  thought  she  had  jested  better  —  she  begins 
To  overcharge  her  part.     I  gravely  wait 
Your  pleasure,  madam  :  where  is  my  reward  ? 

QUEEN. 

Norbert,  this  wild  girl  (whom  I  recognize 

Scarce  more  than  you  do,  hi  her  fancy-fit, 

Eccentric  speech  and  variable  mirth, 

Not  very  wise  perhaps  and  somewhat  bold 

Yet  suitable,  the  whole  night's  work  being  strange) 

—  May  still  be  right :  I  may  do  well  to  speak 

And  make  authentic  what  appears  a  dream 

To  even  myself.     For,  what  she  Ays,  is  true  — 

Yes,  Norbert  —  what  you  spoke  but  now  of  love, 

Devotion,  stirred  no  novel  sense  hi  me, 

But  justified  a  warmth  felt  long  before. 

Yes,  from  the  first  —  I  loved  you,  I  shall  say,  — 

Strange  !  but  I  do  grow  stronger,  now  'tis  said, 

Your  courage  helps  mine     you  did  well  to  speak 

To-night,  the  night  that  crowns  your  twelvemonths'  toil- 

But  still  I  had  not  waited  to  discern 


254  IN   A    BALCONY. 

Your  heart  so  long,  believe  me  !     From  the  first 
The  source  of  so  much  zeal  was  almost  plain, 
In  absence  even  of  your  own  words  just  now 
Which  opened  out  the  truth.     Tis  very  strange, 
But  takes  a  happy  ending  —  in  your  love 
Which  mine  meets  :  be  it  so  —  as  you  choose  me, 
So  I  choose  you. 

NOBBEHT. 

And  worthily  you  choose  I 
I  will  not  be  unworthy  your  esteem, 
No,  madam.     I  do  love  you  ;  I  will  meet 
Your  nature,  now  I  know  it ;  this  was  well, 
I  see,  —  you  dare  and  you  are  justified  : 
But  none  had  ventured  such  experiment, 
Less  versed  than  you  hi  nobleness  of  heart, 
Less  confident  of  finding  it  hi  me. 
I  like  that  thus  you  test  me  ere  you  grant 
The  dearest,  richest,  beauteousest  and  best 
Of  women  to  my  arms  !  'tis  like  yourself! 
So  —  back  again  into  •y  part's  set  words  — 
Devotion  to  the  uttermost  is  yours, 
But  no,  you  cannot,  madam,  even  you, 
Create  in  me  the  love  our  Constance  does. 
Or  —  something  truer  to  the  tragic  phrase  — 
Not  yon  magnolia-bell  superb  with  scent 
Invites  a  certain  insect  —  that's  myself — 
But  the  small  eye-flower  nearer  to  the  ground: 
I  take  this  lady  ! 


IN    A.    BALCONY.  255 

CONSTANCE. 

Stay  —  not  hei^s,  the  trap  — 
Stay,  Norbert  —  that  mistake  were  worst  of  all. 
(He  is  too  cunning,  madam !)  it  was  I, 
I,  Norbert,  who  .  .  . 


You,  was  it,  Constance  ?     Then, 
But  for  the  grace  of  this  divinest  hour 
Which  gives  me  you,  I  should  not  pardon  here. 
I  am  the  Queen's  :  she  only  knows  my  brain  — 
She  may  experiment  therefore  on  my  heart 
And  I  instruct  her  too  by  the  result ; 
But  you,  sweet,  you  who  know  me,  who  so  long 
Have  told  my  heart-beats  over,  held  my  life 
In  those  white  hands  of  yours,  —  it  is  not  well! 

CONSTANCE. 

Tush !  I  have  said  it,  did  I  not  say  it  all  ? 

The  life,  for  her —  the  heart-beats,  for  her  sake ! 

NORBERT. 

Enough !  my  cheek  grows  red,  I  think.     Your  test 

There  's  not  the  meanest  woman  in  the  world, 

Not  she  I  least  could  love  in  all  the  world, 

Whom,  did  she  love  me,  did  love  prove  itself, 

I  dared  insult  as  you  insult  me  now. 

Constance,  I  could  say,  if  it  must  be  said, 

tt  Take  back  the  soul  you  offer  —  I  keep  mine  * 


256  IN    A    BALCONY. 

But  —  "  Take  the  soul  still  quivering  on  your  hand, 

The  soul  so  offered,  which  I  carfhot  use, 

And,  please  you,  give  it  to  some  friend  of  mine, 

For  —  what 's  the  trifle  he  requites  me  with  ?  " 

I,  tempt  a  woman,  to  amuse  a  man, 

That  two  may  mock  her  heart  if  it  succumb  ? 

No !  fearing  God  and  standing  'neath  his  heaven, 

I  would  not  dare  insult  a  woman  so, 

Where  she  the  meanest  woman  in  the  world, 

And  he,  I  cared  to  please,  ten  emperors  I 

CONSTANCE. 

Norbert ! 

NORBBRT. 

I  love  once  as  I  live  but  once. 
What  case  is  this  to  think  or  talk  about  ? 
I  love  you.     Would  it  mend  the  case  at  all 
Should  such  a  step  as  this  kill  love  hi  me  ? 
Your  part  were  done  :  account  to  God  for  it. 
But  mine  —  could  murdered  love  get  up  again, 
And  kneel  to  whom  you  pleased  to  designate 
And  make  you  mirth  ?     It  is  too  horrible. 
You  did  not  know  this,  Constance  ?  now  you  know 
That  body  and  soul  have  each  one  life,  but  one : 
And  here  's  my  love,  here,  living,  at  your  feet. 

CON8TANCK. 

Bee  the  Queen  !     Norbert  —  this  one  more  last  word 


IN    A    BALCONY.  25' 

If  thus  you  have  taken  jest  for  earnest  —  thus 
Loved  me  in  earnest . . . 


Ah,  no  jest  holds  here  I 

WLere  is  the -laughter  in  which  jests  break  up  ? 
And  what  this  horror  that  grows  palpable  ? 
Madam  —  why  grasp  you  thus  the  balcony  ? 
Have  I  done  ill  ?     Have  I  not  spoken  the  truth  ? 
How  could  I  other  ?     Was  it  not  your  test, 
To  try  me,  and  what  my  love  for  Constance  meant  ? 
Madam,  your  royal  soul  itself  approves, 
The  first,  that  I  should  choose  thus  !  so  one  takes 
A  beggar  —  asks  him  what  would  buy  his  child, 
And  then  approves  the  expected  laugh  of  scorn 
Returned  as  something  noble  from  the  rags. 
Speak,  Constance,  I  'm  the  beggar  !  Ha,  what 's  this  I 
You  two  glare  each  at  each  like  panthers  now. 
Constance  —  the  world  fades  ;  only  you  stand  there  I 
You  did  not  in  to-night's  wild  whirl  of  things 
Sell  me  —  your  soul  of  souls,  for  any  price  ? 
No  —  no  —  'tis  easy  to  believe  in  you. 
"Was  it  your  love's  mad  trial  to  o'ertop 
Mine  by  this  vain  self-sacrifice  ?  well,  still  — 
Though  I  should  curse,  I  love  you.     I  am  love 
And  cannot  change  !  love's  self  is  at  your  feet. 

fQrF,EN  goe»  out. 

CONSTANCE. 

Feel  my  heart ;  let  it  die  against  your  own. 
17 


958  IN   A    BALCONY. 

NORBEBT. 

Against  my  own  !  explain  not ;  let  this  be. 
This  is  life's  height. 

CONSTANCE. 

Yours  I    Yours !    Yours  I 


You  and  I  — 

Why  care  by  what  meanders  we  are  here 
In  the  centre  of  the  labyrinth  ?  men  have  died 
Trying  to  find  this  place  out,  which  we  have  found. 

CONSTANCE. 

Found,  found  I 

NORBEBT. 

Sweet,  never  fear  what  she  can  do  — 
We  are  past  harm  now. 

CONSTANCE. 

On  the  breast  of  God. 
I  thought  of  men  —  as  if  you  were  a  man. 
Tempting  him  with  a  crown  I 

NORBEBT. 

This  must  end  here  - 
It  is  too  perfect ! 


IN   A   BALCONT.  259 

CONSTANCE. 

There 's  the  music  stopped. 
What  measured  heavy  tread  ?  it  is  one  blaze 
A.bout  me  and  within  me. 

NORBERT. 

Oh,  some  death 

Will  run  its  sudden  finger  round  this  spark, 
And  sever  us  from  the  rest  —  - 

CONSTANCE. 

And  so  do  well 
Now  the  doors  open  — 

NORBEBT. 

Tis  the  guard  comes. 

OOVtTAVCV. 

KiM 


SAUL. 

1. 

SAID  Abner,  "  At  last  tnou  art  come  !  Ere  I  tell,  ere 

thou  speak, 

Kiss  my  cheek,  wish  me  well !  "  Then  I  wished  it,  and 

did  kiss  his  cheek. 

And  he,  "  Since  the  King,  0  my  friend,  for  thy  counte- 
nance sent, 

Neither  drunken  nor  eaten  nave  we  ;  nor  until  from  hia 

tent 

Thou  return  with  the  joyful  assurance  the  King  liveth 

yet, 

Shall  our  lip  with  the  honey  be  bright,  with  the  water 

be  wet. 
For  out  of  the  black  mid-tent's  silence,  a  space  of  three 

days, 
Not  a  sound  hath  escaped  to  thy  servants,  of  prayer  or 

of  praise, 
To  betoken  that  Saul  and  the  Spirit  have  ended  their 

strife, 


SAITL.  261 

And  that,  faint  in  his  triumph,  the  monarch  sinks  back 

upon  life. 

2. 

Yet  now  my  heart  leaps,  0  beloved  !     God's  child,  with 

his  dew 
On  thy  gracious  gold  hair,  and  those  lilies  still  living  and 

blue 
Just  broken  to  twine  round  thy  harp-strings,  as  if  no  wild 

heat 
Were  now  raging  to  torture  the  desert ! " 

8. 

Then  I,  as  was  meet, 
Knelt  down  to  the  God  of  my  fathers,  and  rose  on  my 

feet, 
And  ran  o'er  the  sand  burnt  to  powder.     The  tent  was 

iftilooped ; 
I  pulled   up   the  spear   that  obstructed,   and   under  I 

stooped ; 
Hands    and    knees  on    the    slippery    grass-patch,    all 

withered  and  gone, 
That    extends    to   the  second   inclosure,  I  groped    my 

way  on 
Till  I  felt  where  the  foldskirts  fly  open.     Then  once 

more  I  prayed, 
And  opened   the   foldskirts   and    entered,  and  was  not 

afraid, 


£62  SAUL. 

But  spoke,  u  Here  is  David,  thy  servant ! "    And  no 

voice  replied. 
At  the  first  I  saw  nought  but  the  blackness  ;  but  soon  I 

descried 
A  something  more  black  than  the  blackness  —  the  vast, 

the  upright 
Main  prop  which  sustains  the  pavilion:  and  slow  into 

sight 

Grew  a  figure  against  it,  gigantic  and  blackest  of  all ; — 
Then  a  sunbeam,  that  burst  thro'  the  tent-roof,  —  showed 

Saul. 

4. 
He  stood  as  erect  as  that  tent-prop  ;  both  arms  stretched 

out  wide 
On  the  great  cross-support  in  the  centre,  that  goes  to 

each  side : 
He  relaxed  not  a  muscle,  but  hung  there,  —  as,  caught 

in  his  pangs 
And  waiting  his   change  the  king-serpent  all   heavily 

hangs, 
Far  away  from  his  kind,  in   the  pine,  till  deliverance 

come 
With   the   spring-time,  —  so  agonized  Saul,  drear  and 

stark,  blind  and  dumb. 

6. 

Then  I  tuned  my  harp,  —  took  off  the  lilies  we   twine 

round  its  chords 


SATJL.  263 

Lest  they  enap  'neath  the  stress  of  the  noontide  —  those 

sunbeams  like  swords  J 
And  I  first  played  the  tune  all  our  sheep  know,  as,  one 

after  one, 
So  docile  they  come  to   the    pen-door,  till   folding   be 

done. 
They  are  white  and  untorn  by  the  bushes,  for  lo,  they 

have  fed 
Where  the   long  grasses   stifle   the   water   within  the 

stream's  bed  ; 
And  now  one  after  one  seeks  its  lodging,  as  star  follows 

star 
Into  eve  and  the  blue  far  above  us,  —  so  blue  and  so  far  I 

6. 

—  Then  the  tune,  for  which  quails  on  the  cornland  will 

each  leave  his  mate 
To  fly  after  the  player ;  then,  what  makes  the  crickets 

elate, 
Till  for  boldness  they  fight  one  another :  and  then,  what 

has  weight 
To   set   the   quick   jerboa  a-musing    outside    his   sand 

house  — 
There  are  none  such  as  he  for  a  wonder,  half  bird  and 

hait*  mouse  !  — 
God  made  all  the  creatures  and  gave  them  oar  love  and 

our  fear, 
To  give  sign,  we  and  they  are  his  children,  one  family 

here. 


264  SAUL. 

7. 

Then  I  played  the  help-tune  of  our  reapers,  their  wine- 

song,  when  hand 
Grasps  at  hand,  eye  lights  eye  in  good  friendship,  and 

great  hearts  expand 
And  grow  one  in  the  sense  of  this  world's  life.  —  And 

then,  the  last  song 
Wlien  the  dead  man  is  praised  on  his  journey  —  "  Bear, 

bear  him  along 
With  his  few  faults   shut  up  like   dead  flowerets  !  are 

balm-seeds  not  here 
To  console  us  ?     The  land  has  none  left,  such  as  he  on 

the  bier. 
Oh,  would  we  might  keep  thee,  my  brother  !  "  —  And 

then,  the  glad  chaunt 
Of  the   marriage,  —  first   go  the  young  maidens,   next, 

she  whom  we  vaunt 
As  the  beauty,  the  pride  of  our  dwelling.  —  And  then, 

the  great  march 

Wherein  man  runs  to  man  to  assist  him  and  buttress  an  arcL 
Nought  can  break  ;  who  shall  harm  them,  our  friends  ? 

—  Then,  the  chorus  intoned 

As  the  Levites  go  up  to  the  altar  in  glory  enthroned  .  . 
But  I  stopped  here  —  for  here  in  the  darkness,  Saul 

groaned. 


8. 

I  paused,  held  my  breath  in  such   silence,   and 
listened  apart  ; 


SAUL.  265 

And  the  tent  shook,  for  mighty  Saul  shuddered,  —  and 

sparkles  'gan  dart 
From  the  jewels  that  woke  in  his  turban  at  once  with  a 

start  — 
All  its  lordly  male-sapphires,  and  rubies  courageous  at 

heart. 
So  the  head  —  but  the  body  still  moved  not,  still  hung 

there  erect. 
And   I   bent    once    again   to   my   playing,   pursued  it 

unchecked, 
As  I  sang,  — 

9. 

"  Oh,  our  manhood's  prime  vigour  1  no 
spirit  feels  waste, 

Not  a  muscle  is  stopped  in  its  playing,  nor  sinew  un- 
braced. 

Oh,  the  wild  joys  of  living !  the  leaping  from  rock  up  to 

rock  — 

The  strong  rending  of  boughs  from  the  fir-tree,  —  the  cool 

silver  shock 

Of  the  plunge  in  a  pool's  living  water,  —  the  hunt  of  the 

bear, 

And  the  sultriness  showing  the  lion  is  couched  hi  his 

lair. 

And  the  meal  —  the  ri«h  dates  —  yellowed  over  with 

gold  dust  divine, 

And  the  locust's-flesh  steeped  hi  the  pitcher  ;  the  full 

draught  of  wine, 


266  SAUL 


the  sleep  in  the  dried  river-channel  where  bull- 

rushes  tell 
That  the  water  was  wont  to  go  warbling  so  softly  and 

well. 
How  good  is  man's.  life,  the  mere  living  !  how  fit  to  em- 

ploy 
AH  the  heart   and  the  soul  and  the  senses,  forever  in 


Hast  thou  loved  the  white  locks  of  thy  father,  whose  sword 

thou  didst  guard 
When  he  trusted  thee  forth  with  the  armies,  for  glorious 

reward  ? 
Didst  thou  see  the  thin  hands  of  thy  mother,  held  up  as 

men  sung 
The  low  song  of  the  nearly-departed,  and  heard  her  faint 

tongue 
Joining  in  while  it  could  to  the  witness,  "  Let  one  more 

attest, 
I  have  lived,  seen  God's  hand  thro'  a  lifetime,  and  all 

was  for  best  ..." 
Then  they  sung  thro'  their  tears  in  strong  triumph,  not 

much,  —  but  the  rest. 
And  thy  brothers,  the  help  and  the  contest,  the  working 

whence  grew 
Such  result  as  from  seething  grape-bundles,  the  spiril 

strained  true  ! 
And  the  friends  of  thy  boyhood  —  that  boyhood  of  won- 

der and  hope, 
Present  promise,  and  wealth  of  the  future  beyond  thi 

eye's  scope,  — 


SAUL.  267 

Till  lo.   thou   art   grown   to  a  monarch  ;    a  people  ia 

thine ; 
And  all  gifts  which  the  world  offers  singly,  on  one  head 

combine  ! 
On  one  head,  all  the  beauty  and  strength,  love  and  rage, 

like  the  throe 
That,  a-work  in  the  rock,  helps  its  labour,  and  lets  .he 

gold  go : 
High  ambition  and  deeds  which  surpass  it,  fame  crown* 

ing  it,  —  all 

Brought  to  blaze  on  the  head  of  one  creature  —  King 

Saul!" 

10. 

And  lo,  with  that  leap  of  my  spirit,  heart,  hand,  harp 

and  voice, 
Each  lifting  Saul's  name  out  of  sorrow,  each  bidding 

rejoice 
Saul's  fame  in  the  light  it  was  made  for  —  as  when,  dare 

I  say, 
The  Lord's  army  hi  rapture  of  service,  strains  through 

its  array, 
And  upsoareth  the  cherubim-chariot  —  "  Saul !  "  cried  I, 

and  stopped, 
And  waited  the  thing  that  should  follow.     Then  Saul, 

who  hung  propt 
By  the  tent's  cross-support  hi  the  centre,  was  struck  by 

his  name, 
ye  seen  when  Spring's  arrowy  summons  goes  right 

to  the  aim, 


268  SADL. 

And  some  mountain,  the  last  to  withstand  her,  that  held, 

(he  alone, 
While  the  vale  laughed  in  freedom  and  flowers)  on  a 

broad  bust  of  stone 
A  year's  snow  bound  about  for  a  breastplate,  —  leaves 

grasp  of  the  sheet  ? 
Fold  on  fold  all  at  once  it  crowds  thunderously  down  to 

his  feet, 
And  there  fronts  you,  stark,  black  but  alive  yet,  your 

mountain  of  old, 
With  his   rents,  the  successive   bequeathings   of   ages 

untold  — 
Yea,  each  harm  got  in  fighting  your  battles,  each  furrow 

and  scar 
Of  his  head  thrust  'twixt  you  and   the  tempest  —  all 

hail,  there  they  are ! 
Now  again  to  be  softened  with  verdure,  again  hold  the 

nest 
Of  the  dove,  tempt  the  goat  and  its  young  to  the  green 

on  its  crest 
For  their  food  in  the  ardours  of  summer  !     One  long 

shudder  thrilled 
All  the  tent  till  the  very  air  tingled,  then  sank  and  was 

stilled, 
At  the  King's  self  left  standing  before  me,  released  and 

aware. 
What  was  gone,  what  remained  ?   all  to  traverse  'twixt 

hope  and  despair  — 

Death  was  past,  life  not  come  —  so  he  waited.     Awhilt 

his  right  hand 


SAUL.  269 

Hell  the  brow,  helped  the  eyes  left  too  vacant  forthwith 

to  remand 
To  their  place  what  new  objects  should  enter :  'twas  Saul 

as  before. 
I  looked  up  and  dared  gaze  at  those  eyes,  nor  was  hurt 

any  more 
Than  by  slow  pallid  sunsets  in  autumn,  ye  watch  from 

the  shore 
At  their  sad  level  gaze  o'er  the  ocean  —  a  sun's  slow 

decline 
Over  hills  which,  resolved  in  stern  silence,  o'erlap  and 

entwine 
Base  with  base  to  knit  strength  more  intense :  so,  arm 

folded  hi  arm 
O'er  the  chest  whose  slow  heavings  subsided. 

lit 

What  spell  or  what  charm, 
(For,  awhile  there  was  trouble  within  me)  what  next 

should  I  urge 
To  sustain  him  where  song  had  restored  him  ?  —  Song 

filled  to  the  verge 
His  cup  with  the  wine  of  this  life,  pressing  all  that  it 

yields 
Of  mere  fruitage,  the  strength  and  the  beauty !    Beyond, 

on  what  fields, 
Glean  a  vintage  more  potent  and  perfect  to  brighten  the 

eye 
bring  blood  to  the  lip,  and  commend  them  the  cup 

they  put  by  ? 


27C  SAUL. 

He  saith,  "  It  is  good ; "  still  he  drinks  not  —  he  lets  me 

praise  life, 
Gives  assent,  yet  would  die  for  his  own  part. 

12. 

Then  fancies  grew  rife 
Which  had  come  long  ago  on  the  pastures,  when  round 

me  the  sheep 
Fed  in  silence  —  above,  the  one  eagle  wheeled  slow  as  in 

sleep, 
And  I  lay  in  my  hollow,  and  mused  on  the  world  that 

might  lie 
'Neath  his  ken,  though  I  saw  but  the  strip  'twixt  the 

hill  and  the  sky  : 
And  I  laughed  — "  Since  my  days  are  ordained  to  be 

passed  with  my  flocks, 
Let  me  people  at  least  with  my  fancies,  the  plains  and 

the  rocks, 
Dream  the  life  I  am  never  to  mix  with,  and  image  the 

show 
Of  mankind  as  they  live  in  those  fashions  I  hardly  shall 

know ! 
Schemes  of  life,  its  best  rules  and  right  uses,  the  courage 

that  gains, 
And  the  prudence  that  keeps  what  men  strive  for. 

And  now  these  old  trains 
Of  vague  thought  came  again ;  I  grew  surer ;  so  one* 

more  the  string 
Of  my  harp  made  response  to  my  spiri',  as  thus  — 


SAUL.  271 

18. 

"  Yea,  my  king," 
I  began  —  "  thou  dost  well  in  rejecting  mere  comforts 

that  spring 
From  the  mere  mortal  life  held  in  common  by  man  and 

by  brute : 
In  our  flesh  grows  the  branch  of  this  life,  in  our  soul  it 

bears  fruit. 
Thou  hast  marked  the  slow  rise  of  the  tree,  —  how  its 

stem  trembled  first 
Till  it  passed  the  kid's  lip,  the  stag's  antler ;  then  safely 

outburst 
The  fan-branches  all  round ;  and  thou  mindedst  when 

these  too,  in  turn 
Broke  a-bloom  and  the  palm-tree  seemed  perfect;  yet 

more  was  to  learn, 
Ev'n  the  good  that  comes  in  with  the  palm-fruit.     Our 

dates  shall  we  slight, 
When  their. juice  brings  a  cure  for  all  sorrow?  or  care 

for  the  plight 
Of  the  palm's  self  whose  slow  growth  produced  them  ? 

Not  so  !  stem  and  branch 
Shall  decay,  nor  be  known  in   their   place,  while  ths 

palm-wine  shall  staunch 
Every  wound  of  man's  spirit   in   whiter.     I  pour  thee 

such  wine. 

Leave  the  flesh  to  the  fate  it  was  fit  for !  the  spirit  be  thine 
By  the  spirit,  when  age  shall  o'ercome  thee,  thou  stiU 

shalt  enjoy 


272  SAUL. 

More  indeed,  than  at  first  when  inconscious,  the  life  of  a 

boy. 
Crush  that  life,  and  behold  its  wine  running !  each  deed 

thou  hast  done 
Dies,  revives,  goes  to  work  in  the  world ;  until  e'en  as 

the  sun 
Looking  down  on  the  earth,  though  clouds  spoil  him, 

though  tempests  efface, 

Can  find  nothing  his  own  deed  produced  not,  must  every- 
where trace 
The  results  of  his  past  summer-prime,  —  so,  each  ray  of 

thy  will, 
Every  flash  of  thy  passion  and  prowess,  long  over,  shall 

thrill 
Thy  whole  people  the  countless,  with  ardour,  till  they  too 

give  forth 
A  like  cheer  to  their  sons,  who  in  turn,  fill  the  south  and 

the  north 
With  the  radiance  thy  deed  was  the  germ  of.     Carouse 

in  the  past. 

But  the  license  of  age  has  its  limit ;  thou  diest  at  last. 
As  the  lion  when  age  dims  his  eye-ball,  the  rose  at  her 

height, 
So  with  man  —  so  his  power  and  his  beauty   forever 

take  flight. 
No !  again  a  long  draught  of  my  soul- wine !  look  fortb 

o'er  the  years  — 
fliou  hast  done  now  with  eyes  for  the  actual ;  begii 

with  the  seer's ! 


SAUL.  273 

Is  Saul  dead  ?  in  the  depth  of  the  vale  make  his  tomb  — 

bid  arise 
A.  gray  mountain  of  marble  heaped  four-square,  till  built 

to  the  skies. 
Let  it  mark  where  the  great  First  King  slumbers  — 

whose  fame  would  ye  know  ? 
Up  above  see  the  rock's  naked  face,  where  the  record 

shall  go 
In  great  characters  cut  by  the  scribe,  —  Such  was  Saul, 

so  he  did ; 
With   the   sages  directing   the  work,  by  the   populace 

chid, — 
For  not  half,  they  '11  affirm,  is  comprised  there !     Which 

fault  to  amend, 
In  the  grove  with  his  kind  grows  the  cedar,  whereon  they 

shall  spend 
(See,  hi  tablets  'tis  level  before  them)  their  praise,  and 

record 

With  the  gold  of  the  graver,  Saul's  story,  —  the  states- 
man's great  word 
Side  by  side  with  the  poet's  sweet  comment.    The  river's 

a-wave 
With    smooth  paper-reeds    grazing    each  other    when 

prophet  winds  rave : 
So  the  pen  gives  unborn  generations  their  due  and  their 

part. 
In  thy  being !     Then,  first  of  the  mighty,  thank  God 

that  thou  art." 
18 


274  SAUL. 

14. 
And  behold  while  I  sang  .  .  But  0  Thou  who  didst  grant 

me  that  day, 
And  before   it  not   seldom   hast   granted,  thy   help  to 

essay 
Carry  on  and  complete  an  adventure,  —  my  Shield  and 

my  Sword 
In  that  act  where  my  soul  was  thy  servant,  thy  word  was 

my  word,  — 
Still  be  with  me,  who  then   at  the  summit  of  human 

endeavour 

And  scaling  the  highest  man's  thought  could,  gazed  hope- 
less as  ever 
On  the  new  stretch  of  Heaven  above  me  —  till,  Mighty 

to  save, 
Just  one  lift  of  thy  hand  cleared  that  distance  —  God's 

throne  from  man's  grave  ! 
Let  me  tell  out  my  tale  to  its  ending  —  my  voice  to  my 

heart, 
Which  can  scarce  dare  believe  in  what  marvels  that 

night  I  took  part, 
As  this  morning  I  gather  the  fragments,  alone  with  my 

sheep, 

And  still  fear  lest  the  terrible  glory  evanish  like  sleep ! 
For  I  wake  in  the  gray  dewy  covert,  while  Hebron  up- 
heaves 
rbe  dawn  struggling  with  night  on  his  shoulder    and 

Kidron  retrieves 
Slow  the  damage  of  yesterday's  sunshine. 


SAUL.  275 

15. 

I  say  then,  —  iny  song 
WTiile  I  sang  thus,  assuring  the  monarch,  and  ever  more 

strong 
Made   a  proffer   of  good   to   console  him  —  he    slowly 

resumed 
His  old  motions  and  habitudes  kingly.     The  right  hand 

replumed 
His  black  locks  to  their  wonted  composure,  adjusted  the 

swathes 

Of  his  turban,  and  see  —  the  huge  sweat  that  his  coun- 
tenance bathes, 
He  wipes  off  with  the  robe ;  and  he  girds  now  his  loins 

as  of  yore, 
And  feels  slow  for  the  armlets  of  price,  with  the  clasp 

set  before. 

He  is  Saul,  ye  remember  in  glory,  —  ere  error  had  bent 
The  broad  brow  from  the  daily  communion ;  and  still, 

though  much  spent 
Be  the  life  and  the  bearing  that  front  you,  the  same,  God 

did  choose, 
To  receive  what  a   man   may    waste,  desecrate,  never 

quite  lose. 
So  sank   he  along  by  the  tent-prop,  till,  stayed  by  the 

pile 
Of  his  armour  and  war- cloak  and  garments,  he  leaned 

there  awhile, 

so  sat  out  my  singing,  —  one  arm  round  the  tent- 
prop,  to  raise 


276  SAUL. 

His  bent  head,  and  the  other  hung  slack  —  till  I  touched 

on  the  praise 

I  foresaw  from  all  men  in  all  times,  to  the  man  patient 

there, 

And  thus  ended,  the  harp  falling  forward.     Then  first  I 

was  'ware 

That  he  sat,  as  I  say,  with  my  head  just  above  his  vast 

knees 

Which  were  thrust  out  on  each  side  around  me,  like  oak- 
roots  which  please 

To  encircle  a  lamb  when  it  slumbers.     I  looked  up  to 

know 

If  the  best  I  could  do  had  brought  solace  :  he  spoke  not, 

but  slow 
'  Lifted  up  the  hand  slack  at  his  side,  till  he  laid  it  with  care 

Soft   and  grave,  but  in   mild  settled  will,  on  my  brow : 

thro'  my  hair 

The  large  fingers  were  pushed,  and  he  bent  back  my 

head,  with  kind  power— 

All  my  face   back,   intent  to   peruse   it,  as   men   do  n 

flower, 

Thus  held  he  me  there  with  his  great  eyes  that  scruti- 
nized mine  — 

And  oh,  all  my  heart  how  it  loved  him  !  but  where  waa 

the  sign  ? 

yearned  —  "  Could  I  help  thee,  my  father,  inventing  a 

bliss, 

[  would  add  to  that  life  of  the  past,  both  the  future  and 

this. 


SAUL.  277 

(  would  give  thee   new  life  altogether,  as  good,  ages 

hence, 
As  this   moment,  —  had   love   but   the   warrant,  love's 

heart  to  dispense !  " 

16. 

Then  the  truth  came  upon  me.     No  harp  more — no 

song  more  !  outbroke  — 

17. 

*  I  have  gone  the  whole  round  of  Creation  :  I  saw  and  I 

spoke ! 
I,  a  work  of  God's  hand  for  that  purpose,  received  in 

my  brain 
And  pronounced  on  the  rest  of  his  handwork  —  returned 

him  again 

His  creation's  approval  or  censure :  I  spoke  as  I  saw. 
I  report,  as  a  man  mav  of  God's  work  —  all 's  love,  yet 

all 's  law ! 
Now  I  lay   down   the  judgeship   he   lent   me.     Each 

faculty  tasked 
To  perceive  him,  has  gained  an  abyss,  where  a  dew-drop 

was  asked. 
Have  I  knowledge  ?  confounded  it  shrivels  at  wisdom 

laid  bare. 
Have  I  forethought  ?  how  purblind,  how  blank,  to  the 

Infinite  care ! 

Do  I  task  any  faculty  highest,  to  image  success  ? 
T  but  open  my  eyes,  —  and  perfection,  no  more  and  no  lesa 


278  SAUL. 

In  the  kind  1  imagined,  full-fronts  me,  and  God  is  seen 

God 
In  the  star,  in  the  stone,  in  the  flesh,  in  the  soul  and  the 

clod. 

And  thus  looking  within  and  around  me,  I  ever  renew 
(With  that  stoop  of  the  soul  which  in  bending  upraises 

it  too) 

The  submission  of  Man's  nothing-perfect  to  God's  All- 
Complete, 

As  by  each  new  obeisance  in  spirit,  I  climb  to  his  feet ! 
Yet   with   all   this    abounding    experience,   this   Deity 

known, 
I  shall  dare  to  discover  some  province,  some  gift  of  my 

own. 
There 's  one  faculty  pleasant  to  exercise,  hard  to  hood 

wink, 

I  am  fain  to  keep  still  in  abeyance,  (I  laugh  as  I  think) 
Lest,   insisting  to   claim  and   parade   in   it,  wot  ye,  1 

worst 
E'en  the  Giver  hi  one  gift.  —  Behold  !  I  could  love  if 

I  durst ! 
But  I  suik  the  pretension  as  fearing  a  man  may  o  'er- 

take 
God's  own  speed  hi  the  one  way  of  love  :  I  abstain,  for 

love's  sake  ! 
—  What,  my  soul?  see  thus  far  and  no  farther?  wher 

doors  great  and  small, 
Nine-and-ninety  flew  ope  at  our  touch,  should  the  hun 

dredth  appall  ? 


SAUL.  279 

In  the  least  things,  hav?  faith,  yet  distrust  in  the  greatest 

of  all? 

Do  1  find  love  so  full  hi  my  nature,  God's  ultimate  gift, 
That  I  doubt  his  own  love  can  compete  with  it  ?  here, 

the  parts  shift  ? 
Here,  the  creature  surpass  the  Creator,  the  end,  what 

Began  ?  — 
Would  I  fain  hi  my   impotent  yearning  do  all  for  this 

man, 
And  dare  doubt  He  alone  shall  not  help  him,  who  yet 

alone  can  ? 
Would  it  ever  have   entered  my  mind,   the  bare  will, 

much  less  power, 
To  bestow  on  this  Saul  what  I  sang  of,  the  marvellous 

dower 
Of  the  life  he  was  gifted  and  filled  with  ?  to  make  such 

a  soul, 
Such  a  body,  and  then  such  an  earth  for  insphering  the 

whole  ? 
And  doth  it  not  enter   my  mind  (as  my  warm   teara 

attest) 
These  good  things  being  given,  to  go  on,  and  give  one 

more,  the  best  ? 
Ay,  to  save  and  redeem  and  restore  him,  maintain  at 

the  height 
This  perfection,  —  succeed  with  life's  dayspring,  death'3 

minute  of  night  ? 

Interpose  at  the  difficult  minute,  snatch  Saul,  the  mis- 
take, 


280  SAUL. 

Saul,  the  failure,  the  ruin  he  seems  now,  —  and  bid  him 

awake 
From  the   dream,  the  probation,   the   prelude,   to  find 

himself  set 
Clear  and   safe  in  new  light   and   new  life,  —  a  new 

harmony  yet 
To  be  run,   and   continued,  and   ended  —  who  knows  ? 

—  or  endure ! 
The  man  taught  enough  by  life's  dream,  of  the  rest  to 

make  sure. 
By    the   pain-throb,   triumphantly   winning    intensified 

bliss, 
And  the  next  world's  reward  and  repose,  by  the  struggle 

in  this. 

18. 

u  I  believe  it !  'tis  Thou,  God,   that   givest,  'tis   I   who 

receive : 

In  the  first  is  the  last,  in  thy  will  is  my  power  to  believe. 
All 's  one  gift :  thou  canst  grant  it  moreover,  as  prompt 

to  my  prayer 
As  I  breathe  out  this  breath,  as  I  open  these  arms  to 

the  air. 
From  thy  will,  stream  the  worlds,  life  and  nature,  thy 

dread  Sabaoth  : 
I  will  ?  —  the  mere  atoms  despise  me  !  and  why  am  I 

loth 
To  look  that,   even   that   in   the  face   too  ?  why  is  it  I 

dare 


SAUL.  281 

Think  but  lightly  of  such  impuissance  ?  what  stops  my 

despair  ? 
This ;  —  'tis  not  what  man  Does  which  exalts  him,  but 

what  man  Would  do  ! 
See  the  king  —  I  would  help  him  but  cannot,  the  wishes 

fall  through. 
Could  I  wrestle  to  raise  him  from  sorrow,  grow  poor  to 

enrich, 

To  fill  up  his  life,  starve  my  own  out,  I  would  —  know- 
ing which, 
I  know  that  my  service  is  perfect  —  Oh,  speak  through 

me  now ! 
Would  I  suffer  for  him  that  I  love  ?     So  wilt  Thou  —  so 

wilt  Thou ! 
So  shall  crown  thee  the  topmost,  ineffablest,  uttermost 

Crown  — 
And  thy  love   fill   infinitude  wholly,  nor  leave  up  nor 

down 
One  spot  for   the   creature  to   stand   in !     It  is  by  no 

breath, 
Turn  of  eye,  wave  of  hand,  that  Salvation  joins  issue 

with  death ! 

As  thy  Love  is  discovered  almighty,  almighty  be  proved 
Thy   power,  that  exists  with  and  for  it,  of  Being  be- 
loved ! 
He  who  did  most,  shail  bear  most ;  the  strongest  shall 

stand  the  most  weak. 
Tie  the  weakness  in   strength  that  I  cry  for !  my 

that  I  seet 


282  SAUL. 

In  the   Godhead !  I   seek  and   I  find  it.      0  Saul,   » 

shall  be 
A  Face  like  my  face  that  receives  thee  :   a  Man  like  to 

me, 
Thou  shalt  love  and  be  loved  by,  forever !  a  Hand  like 

this  hand 
Shall  throw  open  the  gates  of  new  life  to  thee  !     See  the 

Christ  stand!" 

19. 

,    I  know  not  too  well  how  I  found  my  way  home  in  the 

night. 
There  were  witnesses,  cohorts  about  me,  to  left  and  to 

right, 
Angels,  powers,  the  unuttered,  unseen,  the  alive  —  the 

aware  — 
I  repressed,  I  got  through  them  as  hardly,  as  strugglingly 

there, 

As  a  runner  beset  by  the  populace  famished  for  news  — 
Life  or  death.     The   whole   earth   was   awakened,  hell 

loosed  with  her  crews ; 
And  the  stars  of  night  beat   with   emotion,  and  tingled 

and  shot 
Out  in  fire  the  strong  pain  of  pent  knowledge :  but  I 

fainted  not. 
For  the  Hand  still  impelled  me  at  once  and  supported 

—  suppressed 
All  the  tumult,  and  quenched   it   with   quiet,  and  holj 

behest. 


SAUL.  283 

Till  the  rapture  was  shut  in  itself,  and  the  earth  sank  to 

rest. 
Anon  at  the  dawn,  all  that  trouble  had  withered  from 

earth  — 
Not  so  much,  but  I  saw  it  die  out  in  the  day's  tender 

birth  ; 
In  the  gathered   intensity   brought   to  the   gray  of  the 

hills; 
In  the  shuddering  forests'  new  awe ;  in  the  sudden  wind 

thrills ; 
In  the  startled  wild  beasts  that  bore  off,  each  with  eye 

sidling  still 
Tho'  averted,  in  wonder  and  dread  ;  and  the  birds  stiff 

and  chill 
That  rose  heavily,  as  I  approached  them,  made  stupid 

with  awe. 
E'en  the  serpent  that  slid  away  silent, —  he  felt  the  new 

Law. 
The  same  stared  in  the  white  humid  faces  upturned  by 

the  flowers ; 
The  same  worked  in  the  heart  of  the  cedar,  and  moved 

the  vine-bowers. 
And  the  little  brooks  witnessing  murmured,  persistent 

and  low, 
With  their  obstinate,  all  but  hushed  voices — E'en  aol 

it  is  so. 


«DE  GUSTIBU8-" 


YODB  ghost  will  walk,  you  lover  of  trees, 

(If  loves  remain) 

In  an  English  lane, 

By  a  cornfield-side  a-flutter  with  poppies. 
Hark,  those  two  in  the  hazel  coppice  — 
A  boy  and  a  girl,  if  the  good  fates  please, 

Making  love,  say,  — 

The  happier  they ! 

Draw  yourself  up  from  the  light  of  the  moon, 
And  let  them  pass,  as  they  will  too  soon, 

With  the  beanflowers'  boon, 

And  the  blackbird's  tune, 

And  May,  and  June ! 

2. 

What  I  love  best  in  all  the  world, 

Is,  a  castle,  precipice-encurled, 

In  a  gash  of  the  wind-grieved  Apennine.     > 

Or  look  for  me,  old  fellow  of  mine, 


"DE  GOSTIBUS  —  "  285 

(If  I  get  my  head  from  out  the  mouth 
O'  the  grave,  and  loose  my  spirit's  bands, 
And  come  again  to  the  land  of  lands)  — 
In  a  sea-side  house  to  the  farther  south, 
Where  the  baked  cicalas  die  of  drouth, 
And  one  sharp  tree  ('tis  a  cypress)  stands, 
By  the  many  hundred  years  red-rusted, 
Rough  iron-spiked,  ripe  fruit-o'ercrusted, 
My  sentinel  to  guard  the  sands 
To  the  water's  edge.     For,  what  expands 
Without  the  house,  but  the  great  opaque 
Blue  breadth  of  sea,  and  not  a  break  ? 
While,  in  the  house,  forever  crumbles 
Some  fragment  of  the  frescoed  walls, 
From  blisters  where  a  scorpion  sprawls. 
A  girl  bare-footed  brings  and  tumbles 
Down  on  the  pavement,  green-flesh  melons, 
And  says  there  's  news  to-day  —  the  king 
Was  shot  at,  touched  in  the  liver-wing, 
Goes  with  his  Bourbon  arm  in  a  sling. 
—  She  hopes  they  have  not  caught  the  felons. 

Italy,  my  Italy ! 
Queen  Mary's  saying  serves  for  me  — 

(When  fortune's  malice 

Lost  her,  Calais.) 
Open  my  heart  and  you  will  see 
Graved  inside  of  it,  "  Italy." 
Such  lovers  old  are  I  and  she ; 
So  it  always  was,  so  it  still  shall  be  I 


WOMEN   AND   ROSES. 

1. 

I  DREAM  of  a  red-rose  tree. 
And  which  of  its  roses  three 
Is  the  dearest  rose  to  me  ? 

2. 

Round  and  round,  like  a  dance  of  snow 
In  a  dazzling  drift,  as  its  guardians,  go 
Floating  the  women  faded  for  ages, 
Sculptured  in  stone,  on  the  poet's  pages. 
Then  follow  the  women  fresh  and  gay, 
Living  and  loving  and  loved  to-day. 
Last,  in  the  rear,  flee  the  multitude  of  maidens. 
Beauties  unborn.     And  all,  to  one  cadence, 
They  circle  their  rose  on  my  rose  tree. 

3. 

Dear  rose,  thy  term  is  reached, 
Thy  leaf  hangs  loose  and  bleached  : 
Bees  pass  it  unimpeached. 

4. 

Stay  then,  stoop,  since  I  cannot  climb, 
You,  great  shapes  of  the  antique  time  ! 


WOMEN    AND    ROSES.  287 

How  shall  I  fix  you,  fire  you,  freeze  you, 
Break  my  heart  at  your  feet  to  please  you  ? 
Oh  !  to  possess,  and  be  possessed !       • 
Hearts  that  beat  'neath  each  pallid  breast ! 
But  once  of  love,  the  poesy,  the  passion, 
Drink  once  and  die  !  —  In  vain,  the  same  fashion, 
They  circle  their  rose  on  my  rose  tree. 

6. 

Dear  rose,  thy  joy 's  undimmed ; 

Thy  cup  is  ruby-rimmed, 

Thy  cup's  heart  nectar-brimmed. 


Deep  as  drops  from  a  statue's  plinth 
The  bee  sucked  in  by  the  hyacinth, 
So  will  I  bury  me  while  burning, 
Quench  like  him  at  a  plunge  my  yearning, 
Eyes  in  your  eyes,  lips  on  your  lips  ! 
Fold  me  fast  where  the  cincture  slips, 
Prison  all  my  soul  hi  eternities  of  pleasure  I 
Girdle  me  once !     But  no —  hi  their  old  measure 
They  circle  their  rose  on  my  rose  tree. 

7. 

Dear  rose  without  a  thorn, 
Thy  bud  's  the  babe  unborn, 
First  streak  of  a  new  morn 


888  WOMEN    AND    ROSES. 

8. 

Wings,  lend  wings  for  the  cold,  the  clear ! 

What 's  far  conquers  what  is  near. 

Roses  will  bloom  nor  want  beholders, 

Sprung  from  the  dust  where  our  own  flesh  moulders. 

What  shall  arrive  with  the  cycle's  change  ? 

A  novel  grace  and  a  beauty  strange. 

I  will  make  an  Eve,  be  the  artist  that  began  her, 

Shaped  her  to  his  mind  !  —  Alas !  in  like  manner 

They  circle  their  rose  on  my  rose  trea. 


PKOTLS. 

AMONG  these  latter  busts  we  count  by  scores. 

Half-emperors  and  quarter-emperors, 

Each  with  his  bay-leaf  fillet,  loose-thonged  vett, 

Loric  and  low-browed  Gorgon  on  the  breast 

One  loves  a  baby  face,  with  violets  there, 

Violets  instead  of  laurel  in  tke  hair, 

As  those  were  all  the  little  locks  could  bear. 

Now  read  here.     "  Protus  ends  a  period 
Of  empery  beginning  with  a  god  : 
Born  in  the  porphyry  chamber  at  Byzant ; 
Queens  by  his  cradle,  proud  and  ministrant. 
And  if  he  quickened  breath  there,  'twould  like  firt 
Pantingly  through  the  dim  vast  realm  transpire. 
A  fame  that  he  was  missing,  spread  afar  — 
The  world,  from  its  four  corners,  rose  in  war, 
Till  he  was  borne  out  on  a  balcony 
To  pacify  the  world  when  it  should  see. 
The  captains  ranged  before  him,  one,  his  hand 
Made  baby  points  at,  gained  the  chief  command. 
19 


290  PEOTDS. 

And  day  by  day  more  beautiful  he  grew 

In  shape,  all  said,  in  feature  and  in  hue, 

While  young  Greek  sculptors  gazing  on  the  (ihild 

Were,  so,  with  old  Greek  sculpture,  reconciled. 

Already  sages  laboured  to  condense 

In  easy  tones  a  life's  experience  : 

And  artists  took  grave  counsel  to  impart 

In  one  breath  and  one  hand-sweep,  all  their  art  — 

To  make  his  graces  prompt  as  blossoming 

Of  plentifully-watered  palms  in  spring  : 

Since  well  beseems  it,  whoso  mounts  the  throne, 

For  beauty,  knowledge,  strength,  should  stand  alone, 

And  mortals  love  the  letters  of  his  name." 

—  Stop  !  Have  you  turned  two  pages  ?     Still  the  sama 

New  reign,  same  date.     The  scribe  goes  on  to  say 

How  that  same  year,  on  such  a  month  and  dav. 

"  John  the  Pannonian,  groundedly  believed 

A  blacksmith's  bastard,  whose  hard  hand  reprieved 

The  Empire  from  its  fate  the  year  before,  — 

Came,  had  a  mind  to  take  the  crown,  and  wore 

The  same  for  six  years,  (during  which  the  Huns 

Kept  off  their  fingers  from  us)  till  his  sons 

Put  something  in  his  liquor  "  —  and  so  forth. 

Then  a  new  reign.     Stay  —  "  Take  at  its  just  worth 

(Subjoins  an  annotator)  "  what  I  give 

As  hearsay.     Some  think  John  let  Protus  live 

And  slip  away.     'Tis  said,  he  reached  man's  age 

At  some  blind  northern  court :  made  first  a  page, 


PEOTUS. 

1'hen,  tutor  to  the  children  —  last,  of  use 

About  the  hunting-stables.     I  deduce 

He  wrote  the  little  tract '  On  worming  dogs,' 

Whereof  the  name  in  sundry  catalogues 

Is  extant  yet.    A  Protus  of  the  Race 

Is  rumoured  to  have  died  a  monk  in  Thrace,  — 

And  if  the  same,  he  reached  senility." 

Here 's  John  the  Smith's  rough-hammered  head.     Groat 

eye 

Gross  jaw  and  griped  lips  do  what  granite  can 
To  give  you  the  crown-grasper.     What  a  man  I 


HOLT-CROSS  DAY. 

OS    WHICH  THE  JEWS  WERE   FORCED   TO  ATTEND   AH   ANNUAL 
CHRISTIAN   SERMON    IN   ROME. 

I"  Now  was  come  about  Holy-Cross  Day,  and  now  must  my  lord 
preach  his  first  sermon  to  the  Jews  :  as  it  was  of  old  cared  for  in 
the  merciful  bowels  of  the  Church,  that,  so  to  speak,  a  crumb  at 
least  from  her  conspicuous  table  here  in  Rome,  should  be,  though 
but  once  yearly,  cast  to  the  famishing  dogs,  under-trampled  and 
bespitten-npon  beneath  the  feet  of  the  guests.  And  a  moving 
sight  in  truth,  this,  of  so  many  of  the  besotted,  blind,  restive,  and 
ready-to-perish  Hebrews  !  now  paternally  brought  —  nay,  (for  He 
saith,  '  Compel  them  to  come  in,')  haled,  as  it  were,  by  the  head 
and  hair,  and  against  their  obstinate  hearts,  to  partake  of  the 
heavenly  grace.  What  awakening,  what  striving  with  tears,  what 
working  of  a  yeasty  conscience !  Nor  was  my  lord  wanting  to 
himself  on  so  apt  an  occasion ;  witness  the  abundance  of  conver- 
sions which  did  incontinently  reward  him  :  though  not  to  my  lord 
be  altogether  the  glory."  — Diary  by  the  Bishop's  Secretary,  1600.] 

Though  what  the  Jews  really  said,  on  thus  being  driven  U 
ihurch,  was  rather  to  this  effect : 

1. 

FEE,  faw,  fum  !  bubble  and  squeak ! 
Blessedest  Thursday 's  the  fat  of  the  week. 
Bumble  and  tumble,  sleek  and  rough, 


HOLT-CROSS    DAY.  293 

Stinking  and  savoury,  smug  and  gruff, 

Take  the  church-road,  for  the  bell's  due  chime 

Gives  us  the  summons  —  'tis  sermon-time. 


Boh,  here 's  Barnabas !  Job,  that 's  you  ? 

Up  stumps  Solomon  —  bustling  too  ? 

Shame,  man  !  greedy  beyond  your  years 

To  handsel  the  bishop's  shaving-shears  ? 

Fair  play 's  a  jewel !  leave  friends  in  the  lurch  ? 

Stand  on  a  line  ere  you  start  for  the  church 

3. 

Higgledy  piggledy,  packed  we  lie, 
Rats  in  a  hamper,  swine  in  a  stye, 
Wasps  in  a  bottle,  frogs  in  a  sieve, 
Worms  in  a  carcase,  fleas  in  a  sleeve. 
Hist !  square  shoulders,  settle  your  thumbs 
And  buzz  for  the  bishop  —  here  he  comes. 

4. 

Bow,  wow,  wow  —  a  bone  for  the  dog ! 

I  liken  his  Grace  to  an  acorned  hog. 

What,  a  boy  at  his  side,  with  the  bloom  of  a  lass, 

To  help  and  handle  my  lord's  hour-glass  ! 

Didst  ever  behold  so  lithe  a  chine  ? 

His  cheek  hath  laps  like  a  fresh-singed  swine. 


294  HOLT-CROSS    DAT. 

5. 

Aaron 's  asleep  —  shove  hip  to  haunch, 
Or  somebody  deal  him  a  dig  in  the  paunch ! 
Look  at  the  purse  with  the  tassel  and  knob, 
And  the  gown  with  the  angel  and  thingumbob. 
What 's  he  at,  quotha  ?  reading  his  text ! 
Now  you  Ve  his  curtsey  —  and  what  comes  next  ? 

6. 

See  to  our  converts  —  you  doomed  black  dozen  — 
No  stealing  away  —  nor  cog  nor  cozen ! 
You  five  that  were  thieves,  deserve  it  fairly ; 
You  seven  that  were  beggars,  will  live  less  sparely. 
You  took  your  turn  and  dipped  in  the  hat, 
Grot  fortune  —  and  fortune  gets  you  ;  mind  that ! 


Give  your  first  groan  —  compunction 's  at  work ; 

And  soft !  from  a  Jew  you  mount  to  a  Turk. 

Lo,  Micah,  —  the  selfsame  beard  on  ebon 

He  was  four  tunes  already  converted  in  ! 

Here 's  a  knife,  clip  quick  —  it 's  a  sign  of  grace  — 

Or  he  ruins  us  all  with  his  hanging-face. 

8. 

Whom  now  is  the  bishop  a-leering  at  ? 
I  know  a  point  where  his  text  falls  pat. 


HOLT-CROSS    DAY.  295 

I  '11  tell  him  to-morrow,  a  word  just  now 
Went  to  my  heart  and  made  me  vow 
I  meddle  no  more  with  the  worst  of  trades  — 
Let  somebody  else  pay  his  serenades. 

9. 

Groan  all  together  now,  whee  —  hee  —  hee  ! 

It 's  a-work,  it 's  a-work,  ah,  woe  is  me ! 

It  began,  when  a  herd  of  us,  picked  and  placed, 

Were  spurred  through  the  Corso,  stripped  to  the  waist 

Jew-brutes,  with  sweat  and  blood  well  spent 

To  usher  in  worthily  Christian  Lent. 

10. 

It  grew,  when  the  hangman  entered  our  bounds, 

Yelled,  pricked  us  out  to  this  church  like  hounds. 

It  got  to  a  pitch,  when  the  hand  indeed 

Which  gutted  my  purse,  would  throttle  my  creed. 

And  it  overflows,  when,  to  even  the  odd, 

Men  I  helped  to  their  sins,  help  me  to  their  God. 

11. 

But  now,  while  the  scapegoats  leave  our  flock, 
And  the  rest  sit  silent  and  count  the  clock, 
Since  forced  to  muse  the  appointed  tune 
On  these  precious  facts  and  truths  sublime,  — 
Let  us  fitly  employ  it,  under  our  breath, 
In  saying  Ben  Ezra's  Song  of  Death, 


296  HOLY-CROSS 


12. 

For  Rabbi  Ben  Ezra,  the  night  he  died, 

Called  sons  and  sons'  sons  to  his  side, 

And  spoke,  "  This  world  has  been  harsh  and  strange, 

Something  is  wrong,  there  needeth  a  change. 

But  what,  or  where  ?  at  the  last,  or  first  ? 

In  one  point  only  we  sinned,  at  worst. 

13. 

M  The  Lord  will  have  mercy  on  Jacob  yet, 
And  again  in  his  border  see  Israel  set. 
When  Judah  beholds  Jerusalem, 
The  stranger-seed  shall  be  joined  to  them  : 
To  Jacob's  House  shall  the  Gentiles  cleave. 
So  the  Prophet  saith  and  his  sons  believe. 

14. 

"  Ay,  the  children  of  the  chosen  race 
Shall  carry  and  bring  them  to  their  place  : 
In  the  land  of  the  Lord  shall  lead  the  same, 
Bondsmen  and  handmaids.     Who  shall  blame, 
When  the  slaves  enslave,  the  oppressed  ones  o'er 
The  oppressor  triumph  for  evermore  ? 

15. 

'*  God  spoke,  and  gave  us  the  word  to  keep  : 
Bade  never  fold  the  hands  nor  sleep 
'Mid  a  faithless  world,  —  at  watch  and  ward, 


HO1Y-CROSS    DAT.  297 

Till  the  Christ  at  the  end  relieve  our  guard. 
By  his  servant  Moses  the  watch  was  set : 
Though  near  upon  cock-crow  —  we  keep  it  yet. 

16. 

"  Thou  !  if  thou  wast  He,  who  at  mid-watch  came, 

By  the  starlight  naming  a  dubious  Name ! 

And  if  we  were  too  heavy  with  sleep  —  too  rash 

With  tear  —  O  Thou,  if  that  martyr-gash 

Fell  on  thee  coming  to  take  thine  own, 

And  we  gave  the  Cross,  when  we  owed  the  Throne—* 

17. 

u  Thou  art  the  Judge.     We  are  bruised  thus. 
But,  the  judgment  over,  join  sides  with  us  ! 
Thine  too  is  the  cause  !  and  not  more  thine 
Than  ours,  is  the  work  of  these  dogs  and  swine, 
Whose  life  laughs  through  and  spits  at  their  creed, 
Who  maintain  thee  in  word,  and  defy  thee  in  deed  1 

18. 

u  We  withstood  Christ  then  ?  be  mindful  how 

At  least  we  withstand  Barabbas  now ! 

Was  our  outrage  sore  ?  but  the  worst  we  spared, 

To  have  called  these  —  Christians,  —  had  we  dared  \ 

Let  defiance  to  them,  pay  mistrust  of  thee. 

And  Rome  make  amends  for  Calvary  ! 


8  HOLY-CROSS    DAT. 

19. 

u  By  the  torture,  prolonged  from  age  to  age. 
By  the  infamy,  Israel's  heritage, 
By  the  Ghetto's  plague,  by  the  garb's  disgrace, 
By  the  badge  of  shame,  by  the  felon's  place, 
By  the  branding-tool,  the  bloody  whip, 
And  the  summons  to  Christian  fellowship, 

20. 

"  We  boast  our  proofs,  that  at  least  the  Jew 
Would  wrest  Christ's  name  from  the  Devil's  crew. 
Thy  face  took  never  so  deep  a  shade 
But  we  fought  them  in  it,  God  our  aid ! 
A  trophy  to  bear,  as  we  march,  a  band 
South,  east,  and  on  to  the  Pleasant  Land  !  " 

[The present  Pope  abolished  this  bad  businegg  of  tbt 
sermon.  -  -  R.  B.  J 


fHE  GUARDIAN- ANGEL: 

A   riCTUBE   AT   FAJJO. 


DEAR  and  great  Angel,  wouldst  thou  only  leave 
That  child,  when  thou  hast  done  with  him,  for  me  I 

Let  me  sit  all  the  day  here,  that  when  eve 
Shall  find  performed  thy  special  ministry 

And  time  come  for  departure,  thou,  suspending 

Thy  flight,  mayst  see  another  child  for  tending, 
Another  still,  to  quiet  and  retrieve. 

2. 

Then  I  shall  feel  thee  step  one  step,  no  more, 
From  where  thou  standest  now,  to  where  I  gaze, 

And  suddenly  my  head  be  covered  o'er 

"With  those  wings,  white  above  the  child  who  praya 

Now  on  that  tomb  —  and  I  shall  feel  thee  guarding 
Me,  out  of  all  the  world  ;  for  me,  discarding 

Yon  heaven  thy  home,  that  waits  and  opes  its  door ! 

3. 

I  would  not  look  up  thither  pasv  thy  head 

Because  the  door  opes,  like  that  child.  I  know, 


300  THE    GUARDIAN-ANGEL. 

For  I  should  have  thy  gracious  face  instead, 

Thou  bird  of  God  !  And  wilt  thou  bend  me  low 
Like  him,  and  lay,  like  his,  my  hands  together, 
And  lift  them  up  to  pray,  and  gently  tether 

Me,  as  thy  lamb  there,  with  thy  garment's  spread  ? 


If  this  was  ever  granted,  I  would  rest 

My  head  beneath  thine,  while  thy  healing  hands 

Close-covered  both  my  eyes  beside  thy  breast, 

Pressing  the  brain,  which  too  much  thought  expands 

Back  to  its  proper  size  again,  and  smoothing 

Distortion  down  till  every  nerve  had  soothing, 
And  all  lay  quiet,  happy  and  supprest. 

5. 

How  soon  all  worldly  wrong  would  be  repaired  ! 

I  think  how  I  should  view  the  earth  and  skies 
And  sea,  when  once  again  my  brow  was  bared 

After  thy  healing,  with  such  different  eyes. 
0,  world,  as  God  has  made  it !  all  is  beauty  : 
And  knowing  this,  is  love,  and  love  is  duty. 

What  further  may  be  sought  for  or  declared  ? 

6. 

Guercino  drew  this  angel  I  saw  teach 

(Alfred,  dear  friend)  —  that  little  child  to  pray, 

Holding  the  little  hands  up,  each  to  each 

Pressed  gentlv. —  with  his  own  head  turned  away 


THE    GUARDIAN-ANGEL.  801 

Over  the  earth  where  so  much  lay  before  him 
Of  work  to  do,  though  heaven  was  opening  o'er  him, 
And  he  was  left  at  Fano  by  the  beach. 

7 

We  were  at  Fano,  and  three  tunes  we  went 
To  sit  and  see  him  in  his  chapel  there, 

And  drink  his  beauty  to  our  soul's  content 
—  My  angel  with  me  too  :  and  since  I  care 

For  dear  Guercino's  fame,  (to  which  in  power 

And  glory  comes  this  picture  for  a  dower, 
Fraught  with  a  pathos  so  magnificent) 

8. 

And  since  he  did  not  work  so  earnestly 

At  all  times,  and  has  else  endured  some  wrong,— 

I  took  one  thought  his  picture  struck  from  me, 
And  spread  it  out,  translating  it  to  song. 

My  Love  is  here.     Where  are  you,  dear  old  friend  ? 

How  rolls  the  Wairoa  at  your  world's  far  end  ? 
This  is  Ancona,  yonder  is  the  sea. 


14  As  certain  also  of  your  own  poets  have  said  " — 

CLEON  the  poet,  (from  the  sprinkled  isles, 

Lily  on  lily,  that  o'erlace  the  sea, 

And  laugh   their  pride  when   the   light  wave  liapi 

"Greece")  — 
To  Protos  in  his  Tyranny  :  much  health  I 

They  give  thy  letter  to  me,  even  now : 
I  read  and  seem  as  if  I  heard  thee  speak. 
The  master  of  thy  galley  still  unlades 
Gift  after  gift ;  they  block  my  court  at  last 
And  pile  themselves  along  its  portico 
Royal  with  sunset,  like  a  thought  of  thee : 
And  one  white  she-slave  from  the  group  dispersed 
Of  black  and  white  slaves,  (like  the  chequer-work 
Pavement,  at  once  my  nation's  work  and  gift, 
Now  covered  with  this  settle-down  of  doves) 
One  lyric  woman,  in  her  crocus  vest 
Woven  of  sea-wools,  with  her  two  white  hands 
Commends  to  me  the  strainer  and  the  cup 
Thy  Up  hath  bettered  ere  it  blesses  mine. 


CLEON.  303 

Well-counselled,  king,  in  thy  munificence  ! 
For  so  shall  men  remark,  in  such  an  act 
Of  love  for  him  whose  song  gives  life  its  joy, 
Thy  recognition  of  the  use  of  life ; 
Nor  call  thy  spirit  barely  adequate 
To  help  on  life  in  straight  ways,  broad  enough 
For  vulgar  souls,  by  ruling  and  the  rest. 
Thou,  in  the  daily  building  of  thy  tower, 
Whether  in  fierce  and  sudden  spasms  of  toil, 
Or  through  dun  lulls  of  unapparent  growth, 
Or  when  the  general  work  'mid  good  acclaim 
Climbed  with  the  eye  to  cheer  the  architect, 
Didst  ne'er  engage  in  work  for  mere  work's  sake  -• 
Hadst  eve^  in  thy  heart  the  luring  hope 
Of  some  eventual  rest  a-top  of  it, 
Whence,  all  the  tumult  of  the  building  hushed, 
Thou  first  of  men  mightst  look  out  to  the  east. 
The  vulgar  saw  thy  tower  ;  thou  sawest  the  sun. 
For  this,  I  promise  on  thy  festival 
To  pour  libation,  looking  o'er  the  sea, 
Making  this  slave  narrate  thy  fortunes,  speak 
Thy  great  words,  and  describe  thy  royal  face  — 
Wishing  thee  wholly  where  Zeus  lives  the  most 
Within  the  eventual  element  of  calm. 

Thy  letter's  first  requirement  meets  me  here. 
It  is  as  thou  hast  heard  :  in  one  short  life 
F,  Cleon,  have  effected  all  those  things 
Thou  wonderingly  dost  enumerate. 


304  CLEON. 

That  epos  on  thy  hundred  plates  of  gold 
Is  mine,  —  and  also  mine  the  little  chaunt, 
So  sure  to  rise  from  every  fishing-bark 
When,  lights  at  prow,  the  seamen  haul  the?"  ueta. 
The  image  of  the  sun-god  on  the  phare 
Men  turn  from  the  sun's  self  to  see,  is  mine ; 
The  Precile,  o'er-storied  its  whole  length, 
As  thou  didst  hear,  with  painting,  is  mine  too. 
I  know  the  true  proportions  of  a  man 
And  woman  also,  not  observed  before  ; 
And  I  have  written  three  books  on  the  soul. 
Proving  absurd  all  written  hitherto, 
And  putting  us  to  ignorance  again. 
For  music,  —  why,  I  have  combined  the  moods, 
Inventing  one.     In  brief,  all  arts  are  mine  ; 
Thus  much  the  people  know  and  recognize, 
Throughout  our  seventeen  islands.     Marvel  not. 
We  of  tnese  latter  days,  with  greater  mind 
Than  our  forerunners,  since  more  composite. 
Look  not  so  great  (beside  their  simple  way) 
To  a  judge  who  only  sees  one  way  at  once, 
One  mind-point,  and  no  other  at  a  time,  — 
Compares  the  small  part  of  a  man  of  us 
With  some  whole  man  of  the  heroic  age, 
Great  in  his  way,  —  not  ours,  nor  meant  for  our% 
And  ours  is  greater,  had  we  skill  to  know. 
Yet,  what  we  call  this  life  of  men  on  earth, 
This  sequence  of  the  soul's  achievements  here, 
Being,  as  I  find  much  reason  to  conceive, 


CLEON.  305 

Intended  to  be  viewed  eventually 
As  a  great  whole,  not  analyzed  to  parts, 
But  each  part  having  reference  to  all,  — 
How  shall  a  certain  part,  pronounced  complete, 
Endure  effacement  by  another  part  ? 
Was  the  thing  done  ?  —  Then  what 's  to  do  again  ? 
See,  in  the  chequered  pavement  opposite, 
Suppose  the  artist  made  a  perfect  rhomb, 
And  next  a  lozenge,  then  a  trapezoid  — 
He  did  not  overlay  them,  superimpose 
The  new  upon  the  old  and  blot  it  out, 
But  laid  them  on  a  level  in  his  work, 
Making  at  last  a  picture ;  there  it  lies. 
So,  first  the  perfect  separate  forms  were  made, 
The  portions  of  mankind  —  and  after,  so, 
Occurred  the  combination  of  the  same. 
Or  where  had  been  a  progress,  otherwise  ? 
Mankind,  made  up  of  all  the  single  men,  — 
In  such  a  synthesis  the  labour  ends. 
Now,  mark  me  —  those  divine  men  of  old  time 
Have  reached,  thou  sayest  well,  each  at  one  point 
The  outside  verge  that  rounds  our  faculty  ; 
And  where  they  reached,  who  can  do  more  than  reach  F 
It  takes  but  little  water  just  to  touch 
At  some  one  point  the  inside  of  a  sphere, 
And,  as  we  turn  the  sphere,  touch  all  the  rest 
In  due  succession  :  but  the  finer  air 
Which  not  so  palpably  nor  obviously, 
Though  no  less  universally,  can  touch 
20 


806  CLEOW. 

The  whole  circumference  of  that  emptied  sphere, 
Fills  it  more  fully  than  the  water  did  ; 
Holds  thrice  the  weight  of  water  hi  itself 
Resolved  hi  to  a  subtler  element. 
And  yet  the  vulgar  call  the  sphere  first  full 
Up  to  the  visible  height  —  and  after,  void  ; 
Not  knowing  air's  more  hidden  properties. 
And  thus  our  soul,  misknown,  cries  out  to  Zeus 
To  vindicate  his  purpose  in  its  life  — 
Why  stay  we  on  the  earth  unless  to  grow  ? 
Long  since,  I  imaged,  wrote  the  fiction  out, 
That  he  or  other  God,  descended  here 
And,  once  for  all,  showed  simultaneously 
What,  in  its  nature,  never  can  be  shown 
Piecemeal  or  in  succession  ;  —  showed,  I  say, 
The  worth  both  absolute  and  relative 
Of  all  His  children  from  the  birth  of  time, 
His  instruments  for  all  appointed  work. 
I  now  go  on  to  image,  —  might  we  hear 
The  judgment  which  should  give  the  due  to  each, 
Show  where  the  labour  lay  and  where  the  ease, 
And  prove  Zeus'  self,  the  latent,  everywhere  ! 
This  is  a  dream.     But  no  dream,  let  us  hope, 
That  years  and  days,  the  summers  and  the  springs 
Follow  each  other  with  unwaning  power?  — 
rhe  grapes  which  dye  thy  wine,  are  richer  far 
Through  culture,  than  the  wild  wealth  of  the  rock  ; 
The  suave  plum  than  the  savage-tasted  drupe  ; 
The  pastured  honey-bee  drops  choicer  sweet ; 


OLE  ON.  307 

fhe  flowers  torn  double,  and  the  leaves  turn  flowers ; 

That  young  and  tender  crescent-moon,  thy  slave, 

Sleeping  upon  her  robe  as  if  on  clouds, 

Refines  upon  the  women  of  my  youth. 

What,  and  the  soul  alone  deteriorates  ? 

I  have  not  chanted  verse  like  Homer's,  no  — 

Nor  swept  string  like  Terpander,  no  —  nor  carved 

And  painted  men  like  Phidias  and  his  friend : 

I  am  not  great  as  they  are,  point  by  point : 

But  I  have  entered  into  sympathy 

With  these  four,  running  these  into  one  soul, 

Who,  separate,  ignored  each  others'  arts. 

Say,  is  it  notliing  that  I  know  them  all? 

The  wild  flower  was  the  larger  —  I  have  dashed 

Rose-blood  upon  its  petals,  pricked  its  cup's 

Honey  with  wine,  and  driven  its  seed  to  fruit, 

And  show  a  better  flower  if  not  so  large. 

I  stand,  myself.     Refer  this  to  the  gods 

Whose  gift  alone  it  is  !  which,  shall  I  dare 

(All  pride  apart)  upon  the  absurd  pretext 

That  such  a  gift  by  chance  lay  in  my  hand, 

Discourse  of  lightly  or  depreciate  ? 

It  might  have  fallen  to  another's  hand  —  what  then  t 

I  pass  too  surely  —  let  at  least  truth  stay  I 

And  next,  of  what  thou  followest  on  to  ask. 
This  being  with  me  as  I  declare,  O  king, 
My  works,  in  all  these  varicoloured  kinds, 
80  done  by  me,  accepted  so  by  men  — 


308  CLEON. 

Thou  askest  if  (my  soul  thus  in  men's  hearts) 
I  must  not  be  accounted  to  attain 
The  very  crown  and  proper  end  of  life. 
Inquiring  thence  how,  now  life  closeth  up, 
I  face  death  with  success  in  my  right  hand : 
Whether  I  fear  death  less  than  dost  thyself 
The  fortunate  of  men.     "  For  "  (writest  thou) 
"  Thou  leavest  much  behind,  while  I  leave  nought ; 
Thy  life  stays  in  the  poems  men  shall  sing, 
The  pictures  men  shall  study  ;  while  my  life, 
Complete  and  whole  now  in  its  power  and  joy, 
Dies  altogether  with  my  brain  and  arm, 
Is  lost  indeed ;  since,  —  what  survives  myself? 
The  brazen  statue  that  o'erlooks  my  grave, 
Set  on  the  promontory  which  I  named. 
And  that  —  some  supple  courtier  of  my  heir 
Shall  use  its  robed  and  sceptred  arm,  perhaps, 
To  fix  the  rope  to,  which  best  drags  if  down. 
I  go,  then  :  triumph  thou,  who  dost  not  go  ! " 

Nay,  thou  art  worthy  of  hearing  my  whole  mind. 
Is  this  apparent,  when  thou  turn'st  to  muse 
Upon  the  scheme  of  earth  and  man  in  chief, 
That  admiration  grows  as  knowledge  grows  ? 
That  imperfection  means  perfection  hid, 
Reserved  in  part,  to  grace  the  afte--time  ? 
If,  hi  the  morning  of  philosophy, 
Ere  aught  had  been  recorded,  aught  perceived, 
rhou,  with  the  light  now  in  thee,  couldst  have  looked 


CLEON.  309 

On  all  earth's  tenantry,  from  worm  to  bird, 

Ere  man  had  yet  appeared  upon  the  stage — 

Thou  would.<t  have  seen  them  perfect,  and  deduced 

The  perf ccti less  of  others  yet  unseen. 

Conceding  which,  —  had  Zeus  then  questioned  thee 

u  Wilt  thou  go  on  a  step,  improve  on  this, 

Do  moce  for  visible  creatures  than  is  done  ?  " 

Thou  wouldst  have  answered,  "  Ay,  by  making  each 

Grow  conscious  hi  himself —  by  that  alone. 

All 's  perfect  else  :  the  shell  sucks  fast  the  rock, 

The  fish  strikes  through  the  sea,  the  snake  both  swims 

And  slides ;  the  birds  take  flight,  forth  range  the  beasts 

Till  life's  mechanics  can  no  further  go  — 

And  all  this  joy  in  natural  life,  is  put, 

Like  fire  from  off  Thy  finger  into  each, 

So  exquisitely  perfect  is  the  same. 

But  'tis  pure  fire  —  and  they  mere  matter  are  ; 

It  has  them,  not  they  it :  and  so  I  choose, 

For  man,  Thy  last  premeditated  work 

(If  I  might  add  a  glory  to  this  scheme) 

That  a  third  thing  should  stand  apart  from  both, 

A  quality  arise  within  the  soul, 

Which,  intro-active,  made  to  supervise 

£oid  feel  the  force  it  has,  may  view  itself, 

And  so  be  happy."     Man  might  live  at  first 

The  animal  life  :  but  is  there  nothing  more  ? 

[n  due  tune,  let  him  critically  learn 

How  he  lives ;  and,  the  more  he  gets  to  know 

Of  his  own  life's  adaptabilities, 


510  CLEON. 

3The  more  joy-giving  will  his  life  become. 
The  man  who  hath  this  quality,  is  best. 

But  thou,  king,  hadst  more  reasonably  said : 
*  Let  progress  end  at  once,  —  man  make  no  stef 
Beyond  the  natural  man,  the  better  beast, 
Using  his  senses,  not  the  sense  of  sense." 
In  man  there 's  failure,  only  since  he  left 
The  lower  and  inconscious  forms  of  life. 
We  called  it  an  advance,  the  rendering  plain 
A  spirit  might  grow  conscious  of  that  life, 
And,  by  new  lore  so  added  to  the  old, 
Take  each  step  higher  over  the  brute's  hea3. 
This  grew  the  only  life,  the  pleasure-house, 
Watch-tower  and  treasure-fortress  of  the  soul, 
Which  whole  surrounding  flats  of  natural  life 
Seemed  only  fit  to  yield  subsistence  to  ; 
A  tower  that  crowns  a  country.     But  alas ! 
The  soul  now  climbs  it  just  to  perish  there, 
For  thence  we  have  discovered  ('tis  no  dream  — 
We  know  this,  which  we  had  not  else  perceived) 
That  there 's  a  world  of  capability 
For  joy,  spread  round  about  us,  meant  for  us, 
Inviting  us  ;  and  still  the  soul  craves  all, 
And  still  the  flesh  replies,  "  Take  no  jot  more/ 
Than  ere  you  climbed  the  tower  to  look  abroad  ! 
Nay,  so  much  less,  as  that  fatigue  has  brought 
Deduction  to  it."     We  struggle  —  fain  to  enlarge 
Our  bounded  physical  recipiency, 


CLEON.  311 

Increase  our  power,  supply  fresh  oil  to  life, 
Repair  the  waste  of  age  and  sickness.     No, 
It  skills  not :  life  's  inadequate  to  joy, 
As  the  soul  sees  joy,  tempting  life  to  take. 
They  praise  a  fountain  in  my  garden  here 
Wherein  a  Naiad  sends  the  water-spurt 
Thin  from  her  tube ;  she  smiles  to  see  it  rise. 
What  if  I  told  her,  it  is  just  a  thread 
From  that  great  river  which  the  hills  shut  up, 
And  mock  her  with  my  leave  to  take  the  same  ? 
The  artificer  has  given  her  one  small  tube 
Past  power  to  widen  or  exchange  —  what  boote 
To  know  she  might  spout  oceans  if  she  could  ? 
She  cannot  lift  beyond  her  first  straight  thread. 
And  so  a  man  can  use  but  a  man's  joy 
While  he  sees  God's.     Is  it,  for  Zeus  to  boast 
"  See,  man,  how  happy  I  live,  and  despair  — 
That  I  may  be  still  happier  —  for  thy  use !  " 
If  this  were  so,  we  could  not  thank  our  Lord, 
As  hearts  beat  on  to  doing  :  'tis  not  so  — 
Malice  it  is  not.     Is  it  carelessness  ? 
Still,  no.     If  care  —  where  is  the  sign,  I  ask  — 
And  get  no  answer :  and  agree  In  sum, 
0  king,  with  thy  profound  discouragement, 
Who  seest  the  wider  but  to  sigh  the  more. 
Most  progress  is  most  failure  !  them  sayest  wefl. 

The  last  point  now  :  —  thou  dost  accept  a  case  — 
Holding  joy  not  impossible  to  one 


512  CLEON. 

With  artist-gifts  —  to  such  a  man  as  I  — 

Who  leave  behind  me  living  works  indeed ; 

For,  such  a  poem,  such  a  painting  lives. 

What  ?  dost  thou  verily  trip  upon  a  word, 

Confound  the  accurate  view  of  what  joy  is 

(Caught  somewhat  clearer  by  my  eyes  than  thine) 

With  feeling  joy  ?  confound  the  knowing  how 

And  showing  how  to  live  (my  faculty) 

With  actually  living  ?  —  Otherwise 

Where  is  the  artist's  vantage  o'er  the  king  ? 

Because  in  my  great  epos  I  display 

How  divers  men  young,  strong,  fair,  wise,  can  act  — 

Is  this  as  though  I  acted  ?  if  I  paint, 

Carve  the  young  Phoebus,  am  I  therefore  young  ? 

Methinks  I  'm  older  that  I  bowed  myself 

The  many  years  of  pain  that  taught  me  art ! 

Indeed,  to  know  is  something,  and  to  prove 

How  all  this  beauty  might  be  enjoyed,  is  more : 

But,  knowing  nought,  to  enjoy  is  something  too. 

Yon  rower  with  the  moulded  muscles  there 

Lowering  the  sail,  is  nearer  it  than  I. 

I  can  write  love-odes  —  thy  fair  slave  's  an  ode. 

I  get  to  sing  of  love,  when  grown  too  gray 

For  being  beloved :  she  turns  to  that  young  man 

The  muscles  all  a-ripple  on  his  back. 

(  know  the  joy  of  kingship  :  well  —  thou  art  king ! 

"  But."  sayest  thou  —  (and  I  marvel,  I  repeat; 
To  find  thee  tripping  on  a  mere  word)  "  wha 


CLEOX.  313 

Thou  writest,  paintest,  stays  :  that  does  not  die : 

Sappho  survives,  because  we  sing  her  songs, 

And  jEschylus,  because  we  read  his  plays  ! " 

Why,  if  they  live  still,  let  them  come  and  take 

Thy  slave  in  my  despite  —  drink  from  thy  cup  — 

Speak  hi  my  place.     Thou  diest  while  I  survive  ? 

Say  rather  that  my  fate  is  deadlier  still,  — 

lu  this,  that  every  day  my  sense  of  joy 

Grows  more  acute,  my  soul  (intensified 

In  power  and  insight)  more  enlarged,  more  keen  ; 

While  every  day  my  hairs  fall  more  and  more, 

My  hand  shakes,  and  the  heavy  years  increase  — 

The  horror  quickening  still  from  year  to  year, 

The  consummation  coming  past  escape 

When  I  shall  know  most,  and  yet  least  enjoy  — 

When  all  my  works  wherein  I  prove  my  worth, 

Being  present  still  to  mock  me  in  men's  mouths, 

Alive  still,  in  the  phrase  of  such  as  thou, 

I,  I,  the  feeling,  thinking,  acting  man, 

The  man  who  loved  his  life  so  over  much, 

Shall  sleep  in  my  urn.     It  is  so  horrible, 

I  dare  at  times  imagine  to  my  need 

Some  future  state  revealed  to  us  by  Zeus, 

Unlimited  in  capability 

For  joy,  as  this  is  in  desire  for  joy, 

To  seek  which,  the  joy-hunger  forces  us. 

That,  stung  by  straitness  of  our  life,  made  strait 

On  purpose  to  make  sweet  the  life  at  large  — 

Freed  by  the  throbbing  impulse  we  call  death 


314  CLEON. 

We  burst  there  as  the  worm  into  the  fly, 

Who,  while  a  worm  still,  wants  his  wings.     But,  no 

Zeus  has  not  yet  revealed  it ;  and,  alas  ! 

He  must  have  done  so  —  were  it  possible  ! 

Live  long  and  happy,  and  in  that  thought  die, 
Glad  for  what  was.     Farewell.     And  for  the  rest, 
I  cannot  tell  thy  messenger  aright 
Where  to  deliver  what  he  bears  of  thine 
To  one  called  Paulus  —  we  have  heard  his  fame 
Indeed,  if  Christus  be  not  one  with  him  — 
I  know  not,  nor  am  troubled  much  to  know. 
Thou  canst  not  think  a  mere  barbarian  Jew, 
As  Paulus  proves 'to  be,  one  circumcised, 
Hath  access  to  a  secret  shut  from  us  ? 
Thou  wrongest  our  philosophy,  0  king, 
In  stooping  to  inquire  of  such  an  one, 
As  if  his  answer  could  impose  at  all. 
He  writeth,  doth  he  ?  well,  and  he  may  write. 
Oh,  the  Jew  findeth  scholars  !  certain  slaves 
Who  touched  on  this  same  isle,  preached  him  and  Christ , 
And  (as  I  gathered  from  a  bystander) 
Their  doctrines  could  be  held  by  no  sane  man. 


THE  TWIN& 

"  and 


1. 

GRAND  rough  old  Martin  Luther 
Bloomed  fables  —  flowers  on  furze, 

The  better  the  uncouther  : 
Do  roses  stick  like  burrs  ? 


A  beggar  asked  an  alms 

One  day  at  an  abbey-door, 
Said  Luther ;  but,  seized  with  qualms, 

The  Abbot  replied,  "  We  're  poor  1 " 

3. 

•  Poor,  who  had  plenty  once, 
"  When  gifts  fell  thick  as  nun : 

u  But  they  gr  ve  us  nought,  for  the  nonce, 
"  And  how  should  we  give  again  ?  " 


816  THE   TWINS. 

4. 

Then  the  beggar,  "  See  your  sins ! 

"  Of  old,  unless  I  err, 
a  Ye  had  brothers  for  inmates,  twins. 

«  Date  and  Dabitur." 

5. 

"  While  Date  was  in  good  case 
"  Dabitur  flourished  too : 

"  For  Dabitur's  lenten  face, 
u  No  wonder  if  Date  rue." 

6. 

a  Would  ye  retrieve  the  one  ? 

"  Try  and  make  plump  the  other 
"  When  Date's  penance  is  done, 

"  Dabitur  helps  his  brother." 


a  Only,  beware  relapse  ! " 
The  Abbot  hung  his  head. 

This  beggar  might  be,  perhaps, 
An  angel,  Luther  said. 


POPULARITY. 

1. 

STAND  still,  true  poet  that  you  are, 
I  know  you  ;  let  me  try  and  draw  yon. 

Some  night  you  '11  fail  us.     When  afar 
You  rise,  remember  one  man  saw  you, 

Knew  you,  and  named  a  star. 

2. 

My  star,  God's  glow-worm  !  Why  extend 
That  loving  hand  of  His  which  leads  you, 

Yet  locks  you  safe  from  end  to  end 

Of  this  dark  world,  unless  He  needs  you  — 

Just  saves  your  light  to  spend  ? 

3. 

His  clenched  Hand  shall  unclose  at  last 
I  know,  and  let  out  all  the  beauty. 

My  poet  holds  the  future  fast, 
Accepts  the  coming  ages'  duty, 

Their  present  for  this  past. 


318  POPULARITY. 

4. 

That  day,  the  earth's  feast-master's  brow 
Shall  clear,  to  God  the  chalice  raising; 

w  Others  give  best  at  first,  but  Thou 
Forever  set'st  our  table  praising,  — 

Keep'st  the  good  wine  till  now." 

5. 

Meantime,  I  '11  draw  you  as  you  stand, 
With  few  or  none  to  watch  and  wonder, 

I  '11  say  —  a  fisher  (on  the  sand 

By  Tyre  the  Old)  his  ocean-plunder, 

A  netful,  brought  to  land. 

6. 

Who  has  not  heard  how  Tyrian  shells 
Enclosed  the  blue,  that  dye  of  dyes 

Whereof  one  drop  worked  miracles, 
And  coloured  like  Astarte's  eyes 

Raw  silk  the  merchant  sells  ? 

* 

7. 

And  each  bystander  of  them  all 
Could  criticize,  and  quote  tradition  ; 

How  depths  of  blue  sublimed  some  pall, 
To  get  which,  pricked  a  king's  ambition ; 

Worth  sceptre,  crown  and  ball. 


POPULARITY.  31  y 

8. 

Yet  there  's  the  dye,  —  in  that  rough  mesh, 
The  sea  has  only  just  o'er-whispered ! 

Live  whelks,  the  lip's-beard  dripping  fresh, 
As  if  they  still  the  water's  lisp  heard 

Through  foam  the  rock-weeds  thresh. 

9. 

Enough  to  furnish  Solomon 

Such  hangings  for  his  cedar-house, 
That  when  gold-robed  he  took  the  throne 

In  that  abyss  of  blue,  the  Spouse 
Might  swear  his  presence  shone 

10. 

Most  like  the  centre-spike  of  gold 

Which  burns  deep  in  the  blue-bell's  womb, 

What  time,  with  ardours  manifold,     • 
The  bee  goes  singing  to  her  groom, 

Drunken  and  overbold. 

11. 

Mere  conchs  !  not  fit  for  warp  or  woof ! 

Till  art  comes,  —  comes  to  pound  and  squeeze 
And  clarify,  —  refines  to  proof 

The  liquor  filtered  by  degrees, 
While  the  world  stands  aloof. 


520  POPULARITY. 

12. 

And  there 's  the  extract,  flasked  and  fine, 
And  priced,  and  salable  at  last ! 

And  Hobbs,  Nobbs,  Stokes  and  Nokes  combine 
To  paint  the  future  from  the  past, 

Put  blue  into  their  line. 


IS. 

Hobbs  hints  blue,  —  straight  he  turtle  eats. 

Nobbs  prints  blue,  —  claret  crowns  his  cup. 
Nokes  outdares  Stokes  in  azure  feats,  — 

Both  gorge.     Who  fished  the  inurex  up  ? 
What  porridge  had  John  Keats  ? 


THE  HERETIC'S  TRAGEDY. 

A   MIDDLE-AGE   INTERLUDE. 

[In  the  original)  ROSA  MTTNDI  ;  SEU,  FULCITB  ME   FLORIBUS.    A 

CONCEIT     OF      MASTER     GTSBRECHT,     CANON-REGULAR     O» 
8AIKT      JODOCUS-BY-THE-BAR,     TPRES      CITY.         CANTTTQUE, 

Vtrgilius.    AND   HATH   OFTEN    BEEN    SUNG   AT  HOCK-TIDH 

AND   FESTIVALS.      GAVISUS    ERAM,   JeSSldeS. 

(It  would  seem  to  be  a  glimpse  from  the  burning  of  Jacques  do 
Bonrg-Molay,  at  Paris,  A.  D.  1314;  as  distorted  by  the  refraction 
from  Flemish  brain  to  brain,  during  the  course  of  a  couple  of  cen- 
turies.—  R.  B.) 


1. 

PREADMONISHETH  THE  ABBOT  DEODAET. 

THE  Lord,  we  look  to  once  for  all, 

Is  the  Lord  we  should  look  at,  all  at  once : 

He  knows  not  to  vary,  saith  St.  Paul, 

Nor  the  shadow  of  turning,  for  the  nonce. 

See  Him  no  other  than  as  he  is ; 
Give  both  the  Infinites  their  due  -- 
21 


322  THE  HERETIC'S  TRAGEDY. 

Infinite  mercy,  but,  I  wis, 
As  infinite  a  justice  too. 

[Organ:  plagal-cadatce 
As  infinite  a  justice  too. 


ONE    8INGETH. 

John,  Master  of  the  Temple  of  God, 

Falling  to  sin  the  Unknown  Sin. 
What  he  bought  of  Emperor  Aldabrod, 

He  sold  it  to  Sultan  Saladin  — 
Till,  caught  by  Pope  Clement,  a-buzzing  there, 

Hornet-prince  of  the  mad  wasps'  hive, 
And  clipt  of  his  wings  hi  Paris  square, 

They  bring  him  now  to  be  burned  alive. 

[And  wantefk  there  grace  of  lute  or  clavicithert.  f» 
shall  say  to  confirm  him  who  singeth  — 

We  bring  John  now  to  be  burned  alive. 

3.  » 

In  the  midst  is  a  goodly  gallows  built ; 

'Twixt  fork  and  fork,  a  stake  is  stuck  ; 
But  first  they  set  divers  tumbrils  a- tilt, 

Make  a  trench  all  round  with  the  city  muck  ; 
Inside  they  pile  log  upon  log,  good  store  ; 

Fagots  not  few,  blocks  great  and  small, 
Reach  a  man's  mid-thigh,  no  less,  no  more,  — 

For  they  mean  he  should  roast  in  the  sight  of  alL 


THE  HERETIC'S  TRA.GEDY.  323 

CHORUS. 

We  mean  he  should  roast  in  the  sight  of  all. 

4. 

Good  sappy  bavins  that  kindle  forthwith  ; 

Billets  that  blaze  substantial  and  slow ; 
Pine-stump  split  deftly,  dry  as  pith  ; 

Larch-heart  that  chars  to  a  chalk-white  glow : 
Then  up  they  hoist  me  John  in  a  chafe, 

Sling  him  fast  like  a  hog  to  scorch, 
Spit  in  his  face,  then  leap  back  safe, 

Sing  "  Laudes  "  and  bid  clap-to  the  torch. 
CHORUS. 

Laus  Deo  —  who  bids  clap-to  the  torch. 

5. 

John  of  the  Temple,  whose  fame  so  bragged, 

Is  burning  alive  in  Paris  square  ! 
How  can  he  curse,  if  his  mouth  is  gagged  ? 

Or  wriggle  his  neck,  with  a  collar  there  ? 
Or  heave  his  chest,  while  a  band  goes  round  ? 

Or  threat  with  his  fist,  since  his  arms  are  spliced  ? 
Or  kick  with  his  feet,  now  his  legs  are  bound  ? 

—  Thinks  John  —  I  will  call  upon  Jesus  Christ 

[Here  one  crosseth  himself. 

6. 

Jesus  Christ  —  John  had  bought  and  sold, 
Jesus  Christ  —  John  had  eaten  and  drunk ; 


324  THE  HERETIC'S  TRAGEDY. 

To  him,  the  Flesh  meant  silver  and  gold. 

( Salvd  reverentid.) 
Now  it  was,  "  Saviour,  bountiful  lamb, 

I  have  roasted  thee  Turks,  though  men  roast  me. 
See  thy  servant,  the  plight  wherein  I  am ! 

Art  thou  a  Saviour  ?     Save  thou  me !  " 

CHOEUS. 

'Tis  John  the  mocker  cries,  Save  thou  me  ! 

7. 

Who  maketh  God's  Ynenace  an  idle  word  ? 

—  Saith,  it  no  more  means  what  it  proclaims, 
Than  a  damsel's  threat  to  her  wanton  bird  ?  — 

For  she  too  prattles  of  ugly  names. 
—  Saith,  he  knoweth  but  one  thing, — what  he  knows  ? 

That  God  is  good  and  the  rest  is  breath ; 
Why  else  is  the  same  styled,  Sharon's  rose  ? 

Once  a  rose,  ever  a  rose,  he  saith. 
CHOEUS. 

O,  John  shall  yet  find  a  rose,  he  saith ! 


Alack,  there  be  roses  and  roses,  John  ! 

Some  honied  of  taste  like  your  leman's  tongue. 
Some,  bitter  —  for  why  ?  (roast  gayly  on  !) 

Their  tree  struck  root  in  devil's  dung ! 
When  Paul  once  reasoned  of  righteousness 

And  of  temperance  and  of  judgment  to  come. 


THE  HERETIC'S  TRAGEDY.  325 

Good  Felix  trembled,  he  could  no  less  — 
John,  snickering,  crook'd  his  wicked  thumb. 

CHORUS. 
What  cometh  to  John  of  the  wicked  thumb  ? 

9. 

Ha  ha,  John  plucks  now  at  his  rose 

To  rid  himself  of  a  sorrow  at  heart ! 
Lo,  —  petal  on  petal,  fierce  rays  unclose ; 

Anther  on  anther,  sharp  spikes  outstart ; 
And  with  blood  for  dew,  the  bosom  boils; 

And  a  gust  of  sulphur  is  all  its  smell ; 
And  lo,  he  is  horribly  in  the  toils 

Of  a  coal-black  giant  flower  of  Hell ! 
CHORUS. 

What  maketh  Heaven,  that  maketh  HelL 

10. 

So,  as  John  called  now,  through  the  fire  amain, 

On  the  Name,  he  had  cursed  with,  all  his  life  — 
To  the  Person,  he  bought  and  sold  again  — 

For  the  Face,  with  his  daily  buffets  rife  — 
Feature  by  feature  It  took  its  place  ! 

And  his  voice  like  a  mad  dog's  choking  bark 
At  the  steady  Whole  of  the  Judge's  Face  — 

Died.     Forth  John's  soul  flared  into  the  dark. 

8UBJOIXETH   THE    ABBOT    DEODAET. 

God  help  all  poor  sol'**  lo?t  in  the  dark  ! 


TWO  IN  THE  CAMPAGNA. 

l. 

I  WONDER  do  you  feel  to-day 

As  I  have  felt,  since,  hand  in  hand, 

We  sat  down  on  the  grass,  to  stray 
In  spirit  better  through  the  land, 

This  morn  of  Rome  and  May  ? 

2. 

For  me,  I  touched  a  thought,  I  know, 
Has  tantalized  me  many  tunes, 

(Like  turns  of  thread  the  spiders  throw 
Mocking  across  our  path)  for  rhymes 

To  catch  at  and  let  go. 

3. 

Help  me  to  hold  it :  first  it  left 
The  yellowing  fennel,  run  to  seed 

There,  branching  from  the  brickwork's  cleft. 
Some  old  tomb's  ruin :  yonder  weed 

Took  up  the  floating  weft, 


TWO    IN    THE    CAMPAGNA.  327 

4. 

Where  one  small  orange  cup  amassed 

Five  beetles,  —  blind  and  green  they  grope 

Among  the  honey-meal,  —  and  last 
Everywhere  on  the  grassy  slope 

I  traced  it.     Hold  it  fast ! 

5. 

The  champaign  with  its  endless  fleece 

Of  feathery  grasses  everywhere ! 
Silence  and  passion,  joy  and  peace, 

An  everlasting  wash  of  air  — 
Rome's  ghost  since  her  decease. 

6. 

Such  life  there,  through  such  lengths  of  hours. 

Such  miracles  performed  in  play, 
Such  primal  naked  forms  of  flowers, 

Such  letting  Nature  have  her  way 
While  Heaven  looks  from  its  towers. 

7. 

How  say  you  ?     Let  us,  0  my  dove, 

Let  us  be  unashamed  of  soul, 
As  earth  lies  bare  to  heaven  above. 

How  is  it  under  our  control 
To  love  or  not  to  love  ? 


328  TWO    IN    THE    CAMPAGNA. 

8. 

I  would  that  you  were  all  to  me, 

You  that  are  just  so  much,  no  more  — 

Nor  yours,  nor  mine,  —  nor  slave  nor  free ! 
Where  does  the  fault  lie  ?  what  the  core 

Of  the  wound,  since  wound  must  be  ? 

9. 

I  would  I  could  adopt  your  will, 
See  with  your  eyes,  and  set  my  heart 

Beating  by  yours,  and  drink  my  fill 

At  your  soul's  springs,  —  your  part,  my  part 

In  life,  for  good  and  ill. 

10. 

No.     I  yearn  upward  —  touch  you  close, 
Then  stand  away.     I  kiss  your  cheek, 

Catch  your  soul's  warmth, —  I  pluck  the  rose 
And  love  it  more  than  tongue  can  speak  — 

Then  the  good  minute  goes. 

11. 

Already  how  am  I  so  far 

Out  of  that  minute  ?     Must  I  go 

Still  like  the  thistle-ball,  no  bar, 

Onward,  whenever  light  winds  blow. 

Fixed  by  no  friendly  star  ? 


TWO    IN    THE    CAMPAGNA.  829 

12. 

Just  when  I  seemed  about  to  learn  1 
Where  is  the  thread  now  ?    Off  again  1 

The  old  trick  !     Only  I  discern  — 
Infinite  passion  and  the  pain 

Of  finite  hearts  that  yearn. 


A  GRAMMARIAN'S  FUNERAL. 

[  Time —  Shortly  after  the  revival  of  learning  in  Europe.] 

LET  us  begin  and  carry  up  this  corpse, 

Singing  together. 
Leave  we  the  common  crofts,  the  vulgar  thorpes, 

Each  hi  its  tether 
Sleeping  safe  on  the  bosom  of  the  plain. 

Cared-for  till  cock-crow. 
Look  out  if  yonder 's  not  the  day  again 

Rimming  the  rock-row ! 
That 's  the  appropriate  country  —  there,  man's  thought, 

Rarer,  intenser, 
Self-gathered  for  an  outbreak,  as  it  ought, 

Chafes  in  the  censer  ! 
Leave  we  the  unlettered  plain  its  herd  and  crop » 

Seek  we  sepulture 
On  a  tall  mountain,  citied  to  the  top, 

Crowded  with  culture  ! 
All  the  peaks  soar,  but  one  the  rest  excels  j 

Clouds  overcome  it ; 


A  GRAMMARIAN'S  FUNERAL.  83) 

No,  yonder  sparkle  is  the  citadel's 

Circling  its  summit ! 
Thither  our  path  lies  —  wind  we  up  the  heights  — 

Wait  ye  the  warning  ? 
Our  low  life  was  the  level's  and  the  night's ; 

He 's  for  the  morning ! 
Step  to  a  tune,  square  chests,  erect  the  head, 

'Ware  the  beholders ! 
This  is  our  master,  famous,  calm,  and  dead, 

Borne  on  our  shoulders. 

Sleep,  crop  and  herd  !    Sleep,  darkling  thorpe  and  croft, 

Safe  from  the  weather  ! 
He,  whom  we  convoy  to  his  grave  aloft, 

Singing  together, 
He  was  a  man  born  with  thy  face  and  throat, 

Lyric  Apollo ! 
Long  he  lived  nameless  :  how  should  spring  take  note 

Winter  would  follow  ? 
Till  lo,  the  little  touch,  and  youth  was  gone ! 

Cramped  and  diminished, 
Moaned  he,  "  New  measures,  other  feet  anon  I 

My  dance  is  finished  ?  " 
No,  that 's  the  world's  way !  (keep  the  mountain-side. 

Make  for  the  city.) 
He  knew  the  signal,  and  stepped  on  with  pride 

Over  men's  pity ; 
Left  play  for  work,  and  grappled  with  the  world 

Bent  on  escaping : 


832  A  GRAMMARIAN'S  FUNERAL. 

*  What 's  in  the  scroll,"  quoth  he,  "  thou  keepest  furled  ? 

Show  me  their  shaping, 
Theirs,  who  most  studied  man,  the  bard  and  sage, — 

Give ! "  —  So  he  gowned  him, 
Straight  got  by  heart  that  book  to  its  last  page : 

Learned,  we  found  him  ! 
Yea,  but  we  found  him  bald  too  —  eyes  like  lead, 

Accents  uncertain : 
u  Tune  to  taste  life,"  another  would  have  said, 

"  Up  with  the  curtain  !  " 
This  man  said  rather,  "  Actual  life  comes  next  ? 

Patience  a  moment ! 
Grant  i  oave  -tiered  learning's  crabbed  text, 

StilL  vher-     the  comment. 
Let  me  know  all.     Prate  not  of  most  or  least, 

Painful  or  easy : 
Even  to  the  crumbs  I  'd  fain  eat  up  the  feast, 

Ay,  nor  feel  queasy  ! " 
Oh,  such  a  life  as  he  resolved  to  live, 

When  he  had  learned  it, 
When  he  had  gathered  all  books  had  to  give ; 

Sooner,  he  spurned  it  1 
finage  the  whole,  then  execute  the  parts  — 

Fancy  the  fabric 
Quite,  ere  you  build,  ere  steel  strike  fire  from  quartz, 

Ere  mortar  dab  brick  ! 

'Here 's  the  town-gate  reached  :  there 's  the  market-place 
Gaping  before  us.) 


A  GRAMMARIAN'S  FUNERAL.  333 

Tea,  (his  in  him  was  the  peculiar  grace 

(Hearten  our  chorus) 
Still  before  living  he  'd  learn  how  to  live  — 

No  end  to  learning. 
Earn  the  means  first  —  God  surely  will  contrire 

Use  for  our  earning. 
Others  mistrust  and  say  —  "  But  tune  escapes,  — 

"  Live  now  or  never  ! " 
He  said,  "  What 's  Tune  ?  leave  Now  for  dogs  and  apes  1 

Man  has  Forever." 
Back  to  his  book  then :  deeper  drooped  his  head ; 

Calculus  racked  him : 
Leaden  before,  his  eyes  grew  dross  of  lead ; 

Tussis  attacked  him 
lf  Now,  Master,  take  a  little  rest !  "  —  not  he ! 

(Caution  redoubled ! 
Step  two  a-breast,  the  way  winds  narrowly.) 

Not  a  whit  troubled, 
Back  to  his  studies,  fresher  than  at  first, 

Fierce  as  a  dragon 
He,  (soul-hydroptic  with  a  sacred  thirst) 

Sucked  at  the  flagon. 
Oh,  if  we  draw  a  circle  premature, 

Heedless  of  far  gain, 
Greedy  for  quick  returns  of  profit,  sure, 

Bad  is  our  bargain  ! 
Was  it  not  great  ?  did  he  not  throw  on  God, 

(He  loves  the  burthen)  — 
God's  task  to  make  the  heavenly  period 

Perfect  the  earthen  ? 


834  A  GRAMMARIAN'S  FUNKRAL. 

Did  not  he  magnify  the  mind,  show  clear 

Just  what  it  all  meant  ? 
He  would  not  discount  life,  as  fools  do  here, 

Paid  by  instalment ! 
He  ventured  neck  or  nothing  —  heaven's  success 

Found,  or  earth's  failure  : 
14  Wilt  thou  trust  death  or  not?  "  he  answered  "Yes. 

"  Hence  with  life's  pale  lure ! " 
That  low  man  seeks  a  little  thing  to  do, 

Sees  it  and  does  it : 
This  high  man,  with  a  great  thing  to  pursue, 

Dies  ere  he  knows  it. 
That  low  man  goes  on  adding  one  to  one, 

His  hundred's  soon  hit : 
This  high  man,  aiming  at  a  million, 

Misses  an  unit. 
That,  has  the  world  here  —  should  he  need  the  next, 

Let  the  world  mind  him  ! 
This,  throws  himself  on  God,  and  unperplext 

Seeking  shall  find  Him. 
So,  with  the  throttling  hands  of  Death  at  strife, 

Ground  he  at  grammar ; 
Still,  thro'  the  rattle,  parts  of  speech  were  rife. 

While  he  could  stammer 
He  settled  ffoti's  business  —  let  it  be  !  — 

Properly  based  Oun  — 
G-ave  us  the  doctrine  of  the  enclitic  De, 

Dead  from  the  waist  down. 
Well,  here 's  the  platform,  here  's  the  proper  place. 

Hail  to  your  purlieus 


A  GRAMMARIAN'S  FUNERAL.  335 

All  ye  highfliers  of  the  feathered  race, 

Swallows  and  curlews ! 
Here 's  the  top-peak !  the  multitude  below 

Live,  for  they  can  there. 
This  man  decided  not  to  Live  but  Know  — 

Bury  this  man  there  ? 
Here — here 's  his  place,  where  meteors  shoot,  clouds  form, 

Lightnings  are  loosened, 
Stars  come  and  go !  let  joy  break  with  the  storm  — 

Peace  let  the  dew  send  1 
Lofty  designs  must  close  in  like  effects : 

Loftily  lying, 
Leave  him  —  still  loftier  than  the  world  suspect*, 

Living  and  dying. 


ONE  WAY  OF  LOVE. 

1. 

ALL  June  I  bound  the  rose  in  sheaves. 
Now,  rose  by  rose,  I  strip  the  leaves, 
And  strew  them  where  Pauline  may  pass. 
She  will  not  turn  aside  ?  Alas  ! 
Let  them  lie.     Suppose  they  die  ? 
The  chance  was  they  might  take  her  eye. 

2. 

How  many  a  month  I  strove  to  suit 
These  stubborn  fingers  to  the  lute  1 
To-day  I  venture  all  I  know. 
She  will  not  hear  my  music  ?     So  ! 
Break  the  string  —  fold  music's  wing. 
Suppose  Pauline  had  bade  me  sing ! 

3. 

My  whole  life  long  I  learned  to  love. 

This  hour  my  utmost  art  I  prove 

And  speak  my  passion.  —  Heaven  or  hell  ? 

She  will  not  give  me  heaven  ?     'Tis  well ! 

Lose  who  may  —  I  still  can  say, 

Those  who  win  heaven,  blest  are  they 


ANOTHER  WAY  OF  LOVE. 

1. 

JUNE  was  not  over, 

Though  past  the  full, 
And  the  best  of  her  roses    . 
Had  yet  to  blow, 
When  a  man  I  know 
(But  shall  not  discover, 

Since  ears  are  dull, 
And  time  discloses) 

fumed  him  and  said  with  a  man's  true  air, 
Half  sighing  a  smile  hi  a  yawn,  as  'twere,  — 
Tf  I  tire  of  your  June,  will  she  greatly  care? * 

2. 

Well,  Dear,  in-doors  with  you! 

True,  serene  deadness 
Tries  a  man's  temper. 

What 's  in  the  blossom 

June  wears  on  her  bosom? 
Can  it  clear  scores  with  you  ?    v 

Sweetness  and  redness, 

Eadem  semper  ! 

Go,  let  me  care  for  it  greatly  or  slightly ! 
22 


838  ANOTHER    WAY    OF    LOVE. 

If  June  mends  her  bowers  now,  your  hand  left  unsightly 
By  plucking  their  roses,  — my  June  will  do  rightly. 

8. 

And  afte*-  *br  oastime, 
If  June  be  refulgent 
With  flowers  in  completeness, 
All  petals,  no  prickles, 
Delicious  as  trickles 
Of  wine  poured  at  mass-tune,  — 
And  choose  One  indulgent 
To  redness  and  sweetness  : 
Or  if,  with  experience  of  man  and  of  spider, 
She  use  my  June-lightning,  *he  strong  insect-ridder, 
To  stop  the  fresh  spinning,  —  why,  June  will  consider. 


«  TRANSCENDENTALISM : » 

A   POEM   IK  TWELVE   BOOKS. 

STOP  playing,  poet !  may  a  brother  speak  ? 

Tis  you  speak,  that  '$  your  error.     Song 's  our  art : 

Whereas  you  please  to  speak  these  naked  thoughts 

Instead  of  draping  them  in  sights  and  sounds. 

—  True  thoughts,  good  thoughts,  thoughts  fit  to  treasure 

up ! 

But  why  such  long  prolusion  and  display, 
Such  turning  and  adjustment  of  the  harp, 
And  taking  it  upon  your  breast  at  length, 
Only  to  speak  dry  words  across  its  s^trings  ? 
Stark-naked  thought  is  in  request  enough  — 
Speak  prose  and  holloa  it  till  Europe  hears ! 
The  six-foot  Swiss  tube,  braced  about  with  bark, 
Which  helps  the  hunter's  voice  from  Alp  to  Alp  — 
Exchange  our  harp  for  that,  —  who  hinders  you  ? 

But  here's  your  fault;  grown  men  want  thought,  you 

think ; 
Thought 's  what  they  mean  by  verse,  and  seek  hi  verse  • 


340  TRANSCENDENTALISM. 

Boys  seek  for  images  and  melody, 

Men  must  have  reason  —  so  you  aim  at  men. 

Quite  otherwise !     Objects  throng  our  youth,  'tis  true, 

We  see  and  hear  and  do  not  wonder  much. 

If  you  could  tell  us  what  they  mean,  indeed ! 

As  Swedish  Boehme  never  cared  for  plants 

Until  it  happed,  a-walking  in  the  fields, 

He  noticed  all  at  once  that  plants  could  speak, 

Nay,  turned  with  loosened  tongue  to  talk  with  him. 

That  day  the  daisy  had  an  eye  indeed  — 

Colloquised  with  the  cowslip  on  such  themes  1 

We  find  them  extant  yet  in  Jacob's  prose. 

But  by  the  tune  youth  slips  a  stage  or  two 

While  reading  prose  in  that  tough  book  he  wrote, 

(Collating,  and  emendating  the  same 

And  settling  on  the  sense  most  to  our  mind) 

We  shut  the  clasps  and  find  life's  summer  past. 

Then,  who  helps  more,  pray,  to  repair  our  loss  — 

Another  Boehme  with  a  tougher  book 

And  subtler  meanings  of  what  roses  say,  — 

Or  some  stout  Mage  like  him  of  Halberstadt, 

John,  who  made  things  Boehme  wrote  thoughts  about  ? 

He  with  a  "  look  you  !  "  vents  a  brace  of  rhymes, 

And  in  there  breaks  the  sudden  rose  herself, 

Over  us,  under,  round  us  every  side, 

Nay,  in  and  out  the  tables  and  the  chairs 

And  musty  volumes,  Boshme's  book  and  all,  — 

Buries  us  with  a  glory,  young  once  more, 

Pouring  heaven  into  this  shut  house  of  life. 


TRANSCENDENTALISM.  841 

So  come,  the  harp  back  to  your  heart  again ! 
You  are  a  poem,  though  your  poem 's  naught. 
The  best  of  all  you  did  before,  believe, 
Was  your  own  boy's-face  o'er  the  finer  chords 
Bent,  following  the  cherub  at  the  top 
That  points  to  God  with  his  paired  half-moon  wings 


MISCONCEPTIONS. 


THIS  is  a  spray  the  Bird  clung  to, 

Making  it  blossom  with  pleasure, 
Ere  the  high  tree-top  she  sprung  to, 

Fit  for  her  nest  and  her  treasure. 

Oh,  what  a  hope  beyond  measure 
Was  the  poor  spray's,  which  the  flying  feei  hung  to,- 

So  to  be  singled  out,  built  in,  and  sung  to  1 

2. 

This  is  a  heart  the  Queen  leant  on, 

Thrilled  in  a  minute  erratic, 
Ere  the  true  bosom  she  bent  on, 

Meet  for  love's  regal  dalmatic. 

Oh,  what  a  fancy  ecstatic 
Was  the  poor  heart's,  ere  the  wanderer  went  on  — 

Love  to  be  saved  for  it,  proffered  to,  spent  on  I 


O3E   WORD   MOKE. 

TO   E.  B.  B. 


FHERE  they  are,  my  fifty  men  and-women 
Naming  me  the  fifty  poems  finished  ! 
Take  them,  Love,  the  book  and  me  together. 
Where  the  heart  lies,  let  the  brain  lie  also. 

2. 

Rafael  made  a  century  of  sonnets, 

Made  and  wrote  them  in  a  certain  volume 

Dinted  with  the  silver-pointed  pencil 

Else  he  only  used  to  draw  Madonnas  : 

These,  the  world  might  view  —  but  One,  the  volume. 

Who  that  one,  you  ask  ?     Your  heart  instructs  you. 

Did  she  live  and  love  it  all  her  lifetime  ? 

Did  she  drop,  his  lady  of  the  sonnets, 

Die,  and  let  it  drop  beside  her  pillow 

Where  it  lay  in  place  of  Rafael's  glory, 

Rafael's  cheek  so  duteous  and  so  loving  — 

Cheek,  the  world  was  wont  to  hail  a  painter's, 

Rafael's  cheek,  her  love  had  turned  a  poet's  i* 


344  ONE    WORD    MORE. 

3. 

You  and  I  would  rather  read  that  volume, 
(Taken  to  his  beating  bosom  by  it) 
Lean  and  list  the  bosom-beats  of  Rafael, 
Would  we  not  ?  than  wonder  at  Madonnas  — 
Her,  San  Sisto  names,  and  Her,  Foligno, 
Her,  that  visits  Florence  in  a  vision. 
Her,  that 's  left  with  lilies  in  the  Louvre  — 
Seen  by  us  and  all  the  world  in  circle. 

4. 

You  and  I  will  never  read  that  volume. 

Guido  Reni,  like  his  own  eye's  apple 

Guarded  long  the  treasure-book  and  loved  it. 

Guido  Reni  dying,  all  Bologna 

Cried,  and  the  world  with  it,  "  Ours  —  the  treasure  1 

Suddenly,  as  rare  things  will,  it  vanished. 

5. 

Dante  once  prepared  to  paint  an  angel : 
Whom  to  please  ?     You  whisper  "  Beatrice." 
While  he  mused  and  traced  it  and  retraced  it, 
(Peradventure  with  a  pen  corroded 
Still  by  drops  of  that  hot  ink  he  dipped  for, 
When,  his  left-hand  i'  the  hair  o'  the  wicked, 
Back  he  held  the  brow  and  pricked  its  stigma, 
Bit  into  the  live  man's  flesh  for  parchment, 
Loosed  him,  laughed  to  see  the  writing  rankle, 
Let  the  wretch  go  festering  thro'  Florence)  — 


ONE    WORD    MORE.  345 

Dante,  who  loved  well  because  he  hated 
Hated  wickedness  that  hinders  loving, 
Dante  standing,  studying  his  angel,  — 
In  there  broke  the  folk  of  his  Inferno. 
Says  he  — "  Certain  people  of  importance  ** 
(Such  he  gave  his  daily,  dreadful  line  to) 
Entered  and  would  seize,  forsooth,  the  rwxjt 
Says  the  poet  —  "  Then  I  stopped  my  painting  "• 


You  and  I  would  rather  see  that  angel, 
Painted  by  the  tenderness  of  Dante, 
Would  we  not  ?  —  than  read  a  fresh  Inferno 

7. 

You  and  I  will  never  see  that  picture.       * 
While  he  mused  on  love  and  Beatrice, 
While  he  softened  o'er  his  outlined  angel, 
In  they  broke,  those  "  people  of  importance  : 
We  and  Bice  bear  the  loss  forever. 

8. 
What  of  Rafael's  sonnets,  Dante's  picture  ? 

9. 

rhis  :  no  artist  lives  and  loves  that  longs  not 
Once,  and  only  once,  and  for  One  only, 
(Ah,  the  prize  !  )  to  find  his  love  a  language 
Pit  and  fair  and  simple  and  sufficient  — 


346  ONE    WORD    MORE. 

Using  nature  that 's  an  art  to  others, 

Not,  this  one  time,  art  that 's  turned  his  nature. 

Ay,  of  all  the  artists  living,  loving, 

None  but  would  forego  his  proper  dowry,  — 

Does  he  paint  ?  he  fain  would  write  a  poem,  — 

Does  he  write  ?  he  fain  would  paint  a  picture, 

Put  to  proof  art  alien  to  the  artist's, 

Once,  and  only  once,  and  for  One  only, 

So  to  be  the  man  and  leave  the  artist, 

Save  the  man's  joy,  miss  the  artist's  sorrow. 

10. 

Wherefore  ?    Heaven's  gift  takes  earth's  abatement ! 

He  who  smites  the  rock  and  spreads  the  water, 

Bidding  drink  and  live  a  crowd  beneath  him, 

Even  he,  the  minute  makes  immortal, 

Proves,  perchance,  his  mortal  in  the  minute, 

Desecrates,  belike,  the  deed  in  doing. 

While  he  smites,  how  can  he  but  remember, 

So  he  smote  before,  in  such  a  peril, 

When  they  stood  and  mocked  —  "  Shall  smiting  help 

us?" 

When  they  drank  and  sneered  —  "A  stroke  is  easy  I  " 
When  they  wiped  their  mouths  and  went  their  journey, 
Throwing  him  for  thanks  —  "  But  drought  was  pleasant." 
Thus  old  memories  mar  the  actual  triumph ; 
Thus  the  doing  savours  of  disrelish  ; 
Thus  achievement  lacks  a  gracious  somewhat ; 
O'er-importuned  brows  becloud  the  mandate. 


ONE    WORD    MORE.  847 

Carelessness  or  consciousness,  the  gesture. 

For  he  bears  an  ancient  wrong  about  him, 

Sees  and  knows  again  those  phalanxed  faces, 

Hears,  yet  one  time  more,  the  'customed  prelude  — 

u  How  should'st  thou,  of  all  men,  smite,  and  save  us  ?  " 

Guesses  what  is  like  to  prove  the  sequel  — 

u  Egypt's  flesh-pots  —  nay,  the  drought  was  better  " 

11. 

Oh,  the  crowd  must  have  emphatic  warrant ! 
Theirs,  the  Sinai-forehead's  cloven  brilliance, 
Bight-arm's  rod-sweep,  tongue's  imperial  fiat. 
Never  dares  the  man  put  off  the  prophet. 

12. 

Did  he  love  one  face  from  out  the  thousands, 
("Were  she  Jethro's  daughter,  white  and  wifely, 
Were  she  but  the  Ethiopian  bondslave,) 
He  would  envy  yon  dumb  patient  camel, 
Keeping  a  reserve  of  scanty  water 
Meant  to  save  his  own  life  hi  the  desert ; 
Ready  hi  the  desert  to  deliver 
(Kneeling  down  to  let  his  breast  be  opened) 
Hoard  and  life  together  for  his  mistress. 

13. 

I  shall  never,  in  the  years  remaining, 
Paint  you  pictures,  no.  nor  carve  you  statue8: 
Make  you  music  that  should  all-express  me  : 


848  ONE    \VORD    MORE. 

So  it  seems  :  I  stand  on  my  attainment. 

This  of  verse  alone,  one  life  allows  me  ; 

Verse  and  nothing  else  have  I  to  give  you. 

Other  heights  in  other  lives,  God  willing  — 

All  the  gifts  from  all  the  heights,  your  own,  Love  1 

14. 

Yet  a  semhlance  of  resource  avails  us  — 

Shad  3  so  finely  touched,  love's  sense  must  seize  it. 

Take  these  lines,  look  lovingly  and  nearly, 

Lines  I  write  the  first  tune  and  the  last  tune. 

He  who  works  in  fresco,  steals  a  hair-brush, 

Curbs  the  liberal  hand,  subservient  proudly, 

Cramps  his  spirit,  crowds  its  all  hi  little, 

Makes  a  strange  art  of  an  art  familiar, 

Fills  his  lady's  missal-marge  with  flowerets. 

He  who  blows  thro'  bronze,  may  breathe  thro'  silver, 

Fitly  serenade  a  slumbrous  princess. 

He  who  writes,  may  write  for  once,  as  I  do. 

15. 

Love,  you  saw  me  gather  men  and  women. 
Live  or  dead  or  fashioned  by  my  fancy, 
Enter  each  and  all,  and  use  their  service, 
Speak  from  every  mouth, —  the  speech,  a  poem. 
Hardly  shall  I  tell  my  joys  and  sorrows, 
Hopes  and  fears,  belief  and  disbelieving : 
[  am  mine  and  yours  —  the  rest  be  all  men's, 
Karshook,  Cleon,  Norbert  and  the  fifty. 


ONE    WORD    MOKE.  349 

Let  me  speak  this  or.ce  in  my  true  person, 

Not  as  Lippo,  Roland  or  Andrea, 

Though  the  fruit  of  speech  be  just  this  sentence  — 

Pray  you,  look  on  these  my  men  and  women, 

Take  and  keep  my  fifty  poems  finished ; 

Where  my  heart  lies,  let  my  brain  lie  also  ! 

Poor  the  speech  ;  be  how  I  speak,  for  all  things. 

16. 

Not  but  that  you  know  me  !     Lo,  the  moon's  self  I 
Here  in  London,  yonder  late  in  Florence, 
Still  we  find  her  face,  the  thrice-transfigured. 
Curving  on  a  sky  imbrued  with  colour, 
Drifted  over  Fiesole  by  twilight, 
Came  she,  our  new  crescent  of  a  hair's-breadth. 
Full  she  flared  it,  lamping  Samminiato, 
Rounder  'twixt  the  cypresses  and  rounder, 
Perfect  till  the  nightingales  applauded. 
Now,  a  piece  of  her  old  self,  impoverished, 
Hard  to  greet,  she  traverses  the  houseroofs, 
Hurries  with  unhandsome  thrift  of  silver, 
Goes  dispiritedly,  —  glad  to  finish. 

17. 

What,  there  's  nothing  in  the  moon  note-worthy  ? 
Nay  —  for  if  that  moon  could  love  a  mortal, 
Dse,  to  charm  him  (so  to  fit  a  fancy) 
411  her  magic  ('tis  the  old  sweet  mythos) 


550  ONE    WORD    MORE. 

She  would  turn  a  new  side  to  her  mortal, 

Side  unseen  of  herdsman,  huntsman,  steersman  - 

Blank  to  Zoroaster  on  his  terrace, 

Blind  to  Galileo  on  his  turret, 

Dumb  to  Homer,  dumh  to  Keats  —  him,  even ! 

Think,  the  wonder  of  the  moonstruck  mortal  — 

When  she  turns  round,  comes  again  in  heaven, 

Opens  out  anew  for  worse  or  better  ? 

Proves  she  like  some  portent  of  an  ice-berg 

Swimming  full  upon  the  ship  it  founders, 

Hungry  with  huge  teeth  of  splintered  chrystals  i 

Proves  she  as  the  paved-work  of  a  sapphire 

Seen  by  Moses  when  he  climbed  the  mountain  ? 

Moses,  Aaron,  Nadab  and  Abihu 

Climbed  and  saw  the  very  God,  the  Highest, 

Stand  upon  the  paved-work  of  a  sapphire. 

Like  the  bodied  heaven  in  his  clearness 

Shone  the  stone,  the  sapphire  of  that  paved-wor*, 

When  they  ate  and  drank  and  saw  God  also  ! 

18. 

What  were  seen  ?  None  knows,  none  ever  shall  know 

Only  this  is  sure  —  the  sight  were  other, 

Not  the  moon's  same  side,  born  late  in  Florence, 

Dying  now  impoverished  here  in  London. 

God  be  thanked,  the  meanest  of  his  creatures 

Boasts  two  soul-sides,  one  to  face  the  world  with, 

One  to  show  a  woman  when  he  loves  her. 


ONE    WORD    MOBE.  351 

19. 

This  I  say  of  me,  but  think  of  you,  Love ! 

This  to  you  —  yourself  my  moon  of  poets  ! 

Ah,  but  that 's  the  world's  side  —  there 's  the  wonder  — 

Thus  they  see  you,  praise  you,  think  they  know  you. 

There,  in  turn  I  stand  with  them  and  praise  you, 

Out  of  my  own  self,  I  dare  to  phrase  it. 

But  the  best  is  when  I  glide  from  out  them, 

Cross  a  step  or  two  of  dubious  twilight, 

Come  out  on  the  other  side,  the  novel 

Silent  silver  lights  and  darks  undreamed  of, 

Where  I  hush  and  bless  myself  with  silence. 

20. 

Oh,  their  Rafael  of  the  dear  Madonnas, 
Oh,  their  Dante  of  the  dread  Inferno, 
Wrote  one  song  —  and  in  my  brain  I  sing  it, 
Drew  one  angel  —  borne,  see,  on  my  bosom ! 


SORDELLO 


1840. 


TO  J.  MILSAND,  OF  DIJON. 

DEAR  FRIEND  :  — 

Let  this  poem  be  introduced  by  your  name,  and  so  repay 
all  trouble  it  ever  cost  me.  I  wrote  it  twenty-five  years  ago 
for  only  a  few,  counting  even  in  these  on  somewhat  more 
care  about  its  subject  than  they  really  had.  My  own  faults 
of  expression  were  many ;  but  with  care  for  a  man  or  book 
such  would  be  surmounted,  and  without  it  what  avails  the 
faultlessness  of  either  ?  I  blame  nobody,  least  of  all  myself, 
who  did  my  best  then  and  since ;  for  I  lately  gave  time  and 
pains  to  turn  my  work  into  what  the  many  might  —  instead 
of  what  the  few  must  —  like  :  but  after  all,  I  imagined  an- 
other thing  at  first,  and  therefore  leave  as  I  find  it.  The 
historical  decoration  was  purposely  of  no  more  importance 
than  a  background  requires ;  and  my  stress  lay  on  the  inci- 
dents in  the  development  of  a  soul :  little  else  is  worth  study. 
I,  at  least,  always  thought  so,  —  you,  with  many  known  and 
unknown  to  me,  think  so,  —  others  may  one  day  think  so : 
and  whether  my  attempt  remain  for  them  or  not,  I  trust, 
though  away  and  past  it,  to  continue  ever  yours, 

R.B. 

LONDON,  June  9,  1863. 


BORDELLO. 

BOOK    THE    FIRST. 

A    QUIXOTIC    ATTEMPT. 

WHO  will,  may  hear  Bordello's  story  told : 
His  story  ?     Who  believes  me  shall  behold 
The  man,  pursue  his  fortunes  to  the  end, 
Like  me  :  for  as  the  friendless-people's  friend 
Spied  from  his  hill-top  once,  despite  the  din 
And  dust  of  multitudes,  Pentapolin 
Named  o'  the  Naked  Arm,  I  single  out 
Sordello,  compassed  murkily  about 
With  ravage  of  six  long  sad  hundred  years. 
Only  believe  me.     Ye  believe  ? 

Appears 

Verona  .  . .  Never,  I  should  warn  you  first, 
Of  my  own  choice  had  this,  if  not  the  worst 
Fet  not  the  best  expedient,  served  to  tell 
A  story  I  could  body  forth  so  well 
By  making  speak,  myself  kept  out  of  view, 
The  very  man  as  he  was  wont  to  do, 


And  leaving  you  to  say  the  rest  for  him. 

Since,  though  1  might  be  proud  to  see  the  dim 

Abysmal  Past  divide  its  hateful  surge, 

Letting  of  all  men  this  one  man  emerge 

Because  it  pleased  me,  yet,  that  moment  past, 

I  should  delight  in  watching  first  to  last 

His  progress  as  you  watch  it,  not  a  whit 

More  in  the  secret  than  yourselves  who  sit 

Fresh-chapleted  to  listen.     But  it  seems 

Your  setters-forth  of  unexampled  themes, 

Makers  of  quite  new  men,  producing  them, 

Would  best  chalk  broadly  on  each  vesture's  hem, 

The  wearer's  quality ;  or  take  their  stand, 

Motley  on  back  and  pointing-pole  in  hand, 

Beside  him.     So,  for  once  I  face  ye,  friends, 

Summoned  together  from  the  world's  four  ends, 

Dropped  down  from  heaven  or  cast  up  from  hell, 

To  hear  the  story  I  propose  to  tell. 

Confess  now,  poets  know  the  dragnet's  trick, 

Catching  the  dead,  if  fate  denies  the  quick, 

And  shaming  her ;  't  is  not  for  fate  to  choose 

Silence  or  song  because  she  can  refuse 

Real  eyes  to  glisten  more,  real  hearts  to  ache 

Less  oft,  real  brows  turn  smoother  for  our  sake: 

I  have  experienced  something  of  her  spite  ; 

But  there  's  a  realm  wherein  she  has  no  right 

And  I  have  many  lovers.     Say,  but  few 

Friends  fate  accords  me  ?     Here  they  are .  now  view 

The  host  I  muster !     Many  a  lighted  face 


HIS    AUDIENCE, FEW   LIVING,    MANT    DEAD. 

Foul  with  no  vestige  of  the  grave's  disgrace ; 

What  else  should  tempt  them  back  to  taste  our  air 

Except  to  see  how  their  successors  fare  ? 

My  audience  !  and  they  sit,  each  ghostly  man 

Striving  to  look  as  living  as  he  can, 

Brother  by  breathing  brother ;  thou  art  set, 

Clear-witted  critic,  by  ...  but  I  '11  not  fret 

A  wondrous  soul  of  them,  nor  move  death's  spleen 

Who  loves. not  to  unlock  them.     Friends!  I  mean 

The  living  in  good  earnest  —  ye  elect 

Chiefly  for  love  —  suppose  not  I  reject 

Judicious  praise,  who  contrary  shall  peep, 

Some  fit  occasion,  forth,  for  fear  ye  sleep, 

To  glean  your  bland  approvals.     Then,  appear, 

Verona !  stay  —  thou,  spirit,  come  not  near 

Now  —  not  this  time  desert  thy  cloudy  place 

To  scare  me,  thus  employed,  with  that  pure  face ! 

I  need  not  fear  this  audience,  I  make  free 

With  them,  but  then  this  is  no  place  for  thee  ! 

The  thunder-phrase  of  the  Athenian,  grown 

Up  out  of  memories  of  Marathon, 

Would  echo  like  his  own  sword's  griding  screech 

Braying  a  Persian  shield,  —  the  silver  speech 

Of  Sidney's  self,  the  starry  paladin, 

Turn  intense  as  a  trumpet  sounding  in 

The  knights  to  tilt,  —  wert  thou  to  hear !     What  heart 

Have  I  to  play  my  puppets,  bear  my  part 

Before  these  worthies  ? 

Lo,  the  Past  is  hurled 


6       SHELLEY  DEPARTING,  VERONA  APPEARS. 

In  twain :  up-thrust,  out-staggering  on  the  world, 

Subsiding  into  shape,  a  darkness  real's 

Its  outline,  kindles  at  the  core,  appears 

Verona.     'T  is  six  hundred  years  and  more 

Since  an  event.     The  Second  Friedrich  wore 

The  purple,  and  the  Third  Honorius  filled 

The  holy  chair.     That  autumn  eve  was  stilled : 

A  last  remains  of  sunset  dimly  burned 

O'er  the  far  forests,  like  a  torch-flame  turned 

By  the  wind  back  upon  its  bearer's  hand 

In  one  long  flare  of  crimson ;  as  a  brand, 

The  woods  beneath  lay  black.     A  single  eye 

From  all  Verona  cared  for  the  soft  sky. 

But,  gathering  in  its  ancient  market-place, 

Talked  grbup  with  restless  group ;  and  not  a  face 

But  wrath  made  livid,  for  among  them  were 

Death's  stanch  purveyors,  such  as  have  in  care 

To  feast  him.     Fear  had  long  since  taken  root 

In  every  breast,  and  now  these  crushed  its  fruit, 

The  ripe  hate,  like  a  wine  :  to  note  the  way 

It  worked  while  each  grew  drunk  !  men  grave  and  gray 

Stood,  with  shut  eyelids,  rocking  to  and  fro, 

Letting  the  silent  luxury  trickle  slow 

About  the  hollows  where  a  heart  should  be ; 

But  the  young  gulped  with  a  delirious  glee 

Some  foretaste  of  their  first  debancl>  '"  Wood 

At  the  fierce  news :  for,  be  it  understot-*.. 

Envoys  apprised  Verona  that  her  prince 

Count  Richard  of  Saint  Boniface,  joined  since 


HOW   HER    GUELFS    ARE    DISCOMFITED. 

A  year  with  Azzo,  Este's  Lord,  to  thrust 
Taurello  Salinguerra,  prime  in  trust 
With  Ecelin  Romano,  from  his  seat 
Ferrara,  —  over  zealous  in  the  feat 
And  stumbling  on  a  peril  unaware, 
Was  captive,  trammelled  in  his  proper  snare, 
They  phrase  it,  taken  by  his  own  intrigue. 
Immediate  succor  from  the  Lombard  League 
Of  fifteen  cities  that  affect  the  Pope, 
For  Azzo,  therefore,  and  his  fellow-hope 
Of  the  Guelf  cause,  a  glory  overcast ! 
Men's  faces,  late  agape,  are  now  aghast. 
u  Prone  is  the  purple  pavis ;  Este  makes 
Mirth  for  the  devil  when  he  undertakes 
To  play  the  Ecelin  ;  as  if  it  cost 
Merely  your  pushing-by  to  gain  a  post 
Like  his  !     The  patron  tells  ye,  once  for  all, 
There  be  sound  reasons  that  preferment  fall 
On  our  beloved  "... 

"  Duke  o'  the  Rood,  why  not?" 
Shouted  an  Estian,  "  grudge  ye  such  a  lot  ? 
The  hill-cat  boasts  some  cunning  of  her  own, 
Some  stealthy  trick  to  better  beasts  unknown,- 
That  quick  with  prey  enough  her  hunger  blunts, 
And  feeds  her  fat  while  gaunt  the  lion  hunts." 

"  Taurello,"  quoth  an  envoy,  "  as  in  wane         • 
Dwelt  at  Ferrara.     Like  an  osprey  fain 
To  fly  but  forced  the  earth  his  couch  to  make 
Far  inland,  till  his  friend  the  tempest  wake, 


5        WHY   THEY   ENTREAT    THE    LOMBARD    LEAGUE, 

"Waits  he  the  Kaiser's  coming ;  and  as  yet 

'A  hat  fast  friend  sleeps,  and  he  too  sleeps :  but  let 

Only  the  billow  freshen,  and  he  snuffs 

The  aroused  hurricane  ere  it  enroughs 

The  sea  it  means  to  cross  because  of  him. 

Sinketh  the  breeze  ?     His  hope-sick  eye  grows  dim ; 

Creep  closer  on  the  creature  !     Every  day 

Strengthens  the  Pontiff;  Ecelin,  they  say, 

Dozes  now  at  Oliero,  with  dry  lips 

Telling  upon  his  perished  finger-tips 

How  many  ancestors  are  to  depose 

Ere  he  be  Satan's  Viceroy  when  the  doze 

Deposits  him  hi  hell.     So,  Guelfs  rebuilt 

Their  houses  ;  not  a  drop  of  blood  was  spilt 

When  Cino  Bocchimpane  chanced  to  meet 

Buccio  Virtu  —  God's  wafer,  and  the  street 

Is  narrow  !     Tutti  Santi,  think,  a-swarm 

With  Ghibellins,  and  yet  he  took  no  harm ! 

This  could  not  last.     Off  Salinguerra  went 

To  Padua,  Podesta, '  with  pure  intent,' 

Said  he,  '  my  presence,  judged  the  single  bar 

To  permanent  tranquillity,  may  jar 

No  longer '  —  so !  his  back  is  fairly  turned  ? 

The  pair  of  goodly  palaces  are  burned, 

The  gardens  ravaged,  and  our  Guelfs  laugh,  drunk 

A  week  with  joy.     The  next,  their  laughter  sunk 

In  sobs  of  blood,  for  they  found,  some  strange  way, 

Old  Salinguerra  back  again  —  I  say, 

Old  Salinguerra  in  the  town  once  more 


IN   THEIR    CHANGED    FORTUNE    AT    FERRARA  : 

Uprooting,  overturning,  flame  before, 

Blood  fetlock-high  beneath  him.     Azzo  fled ; 

Who  scaped  the  carnage  followed ;  then  the  dead 

Were  pushed  aside  from  Salinguerra's  throne, 

He  ruled  once  more  Ferrara,  all  alone. 

Till  Azzo,  stunned  awhile,  revived,  would  pounce 

Coupled  with  Boniface,  like  lynx  and  ounce, 

On  the  gorged  bird.     The  burghers  ground  their  teeth 

To  see  troop  after  troop  encamp  beneath 

F  the  standing  corn  thick  o'er  the  scanty  patch 

It  took  so  many  patient  months  to  snatch 

Out  of  the  marsh  ;  while  just  within  their  walls 

Men  fed  on  men.     At  length  Taurello  calls 

A  parley :  '  let  the  Count  wind  up  the  war ! ' 

Richard,  light-hearted  as  a  plunging-star, 

Agrees  to  enter  for  the  kindest  ends 

Ferrara,  flanked  with  fifty  chosen  friends, 

No  horse-boy  more,  for  fear  your  timid  sort 

Should  fly  Ferrara  at  the  bare  report. 

Quietly  through  the  town  they  rode,  jog-jog ; 

'  Ten,  twenty,  thirty,  —  curse  the  catalogue 

Of  burnt  Guelf  houses  !     Strange,  Taurello  shows 

Not  the  least  sign  of  life '  —  whereat  arose 

A  general  growl :  '  How  ?     With  his  victors  by  ? 

I  and  my  Veronese  ?    My  troops  and  I  ? 

Receive  us,  was  your  word  ? '     So  jogged  they  on, 

Nor  laughed  their  host  too  openly :  once  gone 

Into  the  trap  !  — 

Six  hundred  years  ago ! 
1* 


10  FOB   THE   TIMES    GROW   STORMY   AGAIN. 

Such  the  time's  aspect  and  peculiar  woe 

(Yourselves  may  spell  it  yet  in  chronicles, 

Albeit  the  worm,  our  busy  brother,  drills 

His  sprawling  path  through  letters  anciently 

Made  fine  and  large  to  suit  some  abbot's  eye) 

When  the  new  Hohenstauffen  dropped  the  mask, 

Flung  John  of  Brienne's  favor  from  his  casque, 

Forswore  crusading,  had  no  mind  to  leave 

Saint  Peter's  proxy  leisure  to  retrieve 

Losses  to  Otho  and  to  Barbaross, 

Or  make  the  Alps  less  easy  to  recross ; 

And,  thus  confirming  Pope  Honorius'  fear, 

Was  excommunicate  that  very  year. 

"  The  triple-bearded  Teuton  come  to  life  ! " 

Groaned  the  Great  League ;  and,  arming  for  the  strife, 

Wide  Lombardy,  on  tiptoe  to  begin, 

Took  up,  as  it  was  Guelf  or  Ghibellin, 

[ts  cry ;  what  cry  ? 

"  The  Emperor  to  come ! " 
His  crowd  of  feudatories,  all  and  some, 
That  leapt  down  with  a  crash  of  swords,  spears,  shields, 
One  fighter  on  his  fellow,  to  our  fields, 
Scattered  anon,  took  station  here  and  there, 
And  carried  it,  till  now,  with  little  care  — 
Cannot  but  cry  for  him  ;  how  else  rebut 
Us  longer  ?     Cliffs,  an  earthquake  suffered  jut 
In  the  mid-sea,  each  domineering  crest, 
Nothing  save  such  another  throe  can  wrest 
From  out  (conceive)  a  certain  chokeweed  grown 


THE    GHIBELLINS'    WISH  :   THE    GUELFS'    WISH.       11 

Since  o'er  the  waters,  twine  and  tangle  thrown 

Too  thick,  too  fast  accumulating  round, 

Too  sure  to  over-riot  and  confound 

Ere  long  each  brilliant  islet  with  itself 

Unless  a  second  shock  save  shoal  and  shelf, 

Whirling  the  sea-drift  wide  :  alas,  the  bruised 

And  sullen  wreck  !     Sunlight  to  be  diffused 

For  that !     Sunlight,  'neath  which,  a  scum  at  first, 

The  million  fibres  of  our  choke  weed  nurst 

Dispread  themselves,  mantling  the  troubled  main, 

And,  shattered  by  those  rocks,  took  hold  again, 

So  kindly  blazed  it  —  that  same  blaze  to  brood 

O'er  every  cluster  of  the  multitude 

Still  hazarding  new  clasps,  ties,  filaments, 

An  emulous  exchange  of  pulses,  vents 

Of  nature  into  nature  ;  till  some  growth 

Unfancied  yet,  exuberantly  clothe 

A  surface  solid  now,  continuous,  one : 

"  The  Pope,  for  us  the  People,  who  begun 

The  People,  carries  on  the  People  thus, 

To  keep  that  Kaiser  off  and  dwell  with  us  ! " 

See  you  ? 

Or  say,  Two  Principles  that  live 
Each  fitly  by  its  Representative. 
*  Hill-cat "  —  who  called  him  so  ?  —  the  gracefullest 
Adventurer,  the  ambiguous  stranger-guest 
Of  Lombardy  (sleek  but  that  ruffling  fur, 
Those  talons  to  their  sheath  !)  whose  velvet  purr 
Soothes  jealous  neighbors  when  a  Saxon  scout 


12    HOW   ECELO'S   HOUSE    GREW   HEAD    OF   THOSE, 

—  Arpo  or  Yoland,  is  it  ?  —  one  without 
A  country  or  a  name,  presumes  to  couch 
Beside  their  noblest ;  until  men  avouch 
That,  of  all  Houses  in  the  Trevisan, 
Conrad  descries  no  fitter,  rear  or  van, 

Than  Ecelo !     They  laughed  as  they  enrolled 

That  name  at  Milan  on  the  page  of  gold, 

Godego's  lord,  —  Ramon,  Marostica, 

Cartiglion,  Bassano,  Loria, 

And  every  sheep-cote  on  the  Suabian's  fief! 

No  laughter  when  his  son,  "  the  Lombard  Chief 

Forsooth,  as  Barbarossa's  path  was  bent 

To  Italy  along  the  Vale  of  Trent, 

Welcomed  him  at  Roncaglia !     Sadness  now  — 

The  hamlets  nested  on  the  Tyrol's  brow, 

The  Asolan  and  Euganean  hills, 

The  Rhetian  and  the  Julian,  sadness  fills 

Them  all,  for  Ecelin  vouchsafes  to  stay 

Among  and  care  about  them ;  day  by  day 

Choosing  this  pinnacle,  the  other  spot, 

A  castle  building  to  defend  a  cot, 

k  cot  built  for  a  castle  to  defend, 

Nothing  but  castles,  castles,  nor  an  end 

To  boasts  how  mountain  ridge  may  join  with  ridge 

By  sunken  gallery  and  soaring  bridge. 

He  takes,  in  brief,  a  figure  that  beseems 

The  griesliest  nightmare  of  the  Church's  dreams, 

—  A  Signory  firm-rooted,  unestranged 
From  its  old  interests,  and  nowise  changed 


AS   AZZO    LORD    OF   ESTE   HEADS   THESE.  13 

By  its  new  neighborhood  ;  perchance  the  vaunt 

Of  Otho,  "  my  own  Este  shall  supplant 

Your  Este,"  come  to  pass.    The  sire  led  in 

A  son  as  cruel ;  and  this  Ecelin 

Had  sons,  in  turn,  and  daughters  sly  and  tall, 

And  curling  and  compliant ;  but  for  all 

Romano  (so  they  styled  him)  throve,  that  neck 

Of  his  so  pinched  and  white,  that  hungry  cheek 

Proved  't  was  some  fiend,  not  him,  the  man's-flesh  went 

To  feed  :  whereas  Romano's  instrument, 

Famous  Taurello  Salinguerra,  sole 

I*  the  world,  a  tree  whose  boughs  were  slipt  the  bole 

Successively,  why  should  not  he  shed  blood 

To  further  a  design  ?     Men  understood 

Living  was  pleasant  to  him  as  he  wore 

His  careless  surcoat,  glanced  some  missive  o'er, 

Propped  on  his  truncheon  in  the  public  way, 

While  his  lord  lifted  writhen  hands  to  pray, 

Lost  at  Oliero's  convent. 

Hill-cats,  face 

With  Azzo,  our  Guelf  Lion  !  —  nor  disgrace 
A  worthiness  conspicuous  near  and  far 
(Atii  at  Rome  while  free  and  consular, 
Este  at  Padua  who  repulsed  the  Hun) 
By  trumpeting  the  Church's  princely  son 
Styled  Patron  of  Rovigo's  Polesine, 
Ancona's  March,  Ferrara's  .  .  .  ask,  in  fine, 
Our  chronicles,  commenced  when  some  old  monk 
Found  it  intolerable  to  be  sunk 


14         COUNT  RICHARD'S  PALACE  AT  VERONA. 

(Vexed  to  the  quick  by  his  revolting  cell) 
Quite  out  of  summer  while  alive  and  well : 
Ended  when  by  his  mat  the  Prior  stood, 
'Mid  busy  promptings  of  the  brotherhood, 
Striving  to  coax  from  his  decrepit  brains 
The  reason  Father  Porphyry  took  pains 
To  blot  those  ten  lines  out  which  used  to  stand 
First  on  their  charter  drawn  by  Hildebrand. 

The  same  night  wears.     Verona's  rule  of  yore 
Was  vested  in  a  certain  Twenty-four ; 
And  while  within  his  palace  these  debate 
Concerning  Richard  and  Ferrara's  fate, 
Glide  we  by  clapping  doors,  with  sudden  glare 
Of  cressets  vented  on  the  dark,  nor  care 
For  aught  that 's  seen  or  heard  until  we  shut 
The  smother  in,  the  lights,  all  noises  but 
The  carroch's  booming :  safe  at  last !     Why  strange 
Such  a  recess  should  lurk  behind  a  range 
Of  banquet-rooms  ?     Your  finger  —  thus  —  you  push 
A  spring,  and  the  wall  opens,  would  you  rush 
Upon  the  banqueters,  select  your  prey, 
Waiting,  the  slaughter-weapons  in  the  way 
Strewing  this  very  bench,  with  sharpened  ear 
A  preconcerted  signal  to  appear  ; 
Or  if  you  simply  crouch  with  beating  heart, 
Bearing  in  some  voluptuous  pageant  part 
To  startle  them.     Nor  mutes  nor  masquers  now  ; 
Nor  any  .  .  .  does  that  one  man  sleep  whose  brow 
The  dying  lamp-flame  sinks  and  rises  o'er  ? 


OP  THE  COUPLE  FOUND  THEREIN,        15 

What  woman  stood  beside  him  ?  not  the  more 

Is  he  unfastened  from  the  earnest  eyes 

Because  that  arras  fell  between  ?     Her  wise 

And  lulling  words  are  yet  about  the  room, 

Her  presence  wholly  poured  upon  the  gloom 

Down  even  to  her  vesture's  creeping  stir. 

And  so  reclines  he,  saturate  with  her, 

Until  an  outcry  from  the  square  beneath 

Pierces  the  charm :  he  springs  up,  glad  to  breathe   ' 

Above  the  cunning  element,  and  shakes 

The  stupor  off  as  (look  you)  morning  breaks 

On  the  gay  dress,  and,  near  concealed  by  it, 

The  lean  frame  like  a  half-burnt  taper,  lit 

Erst  at  some  marriage-feast,  then  laid  away 

Till  the  Armenian  bridegroom's  dying-day, 

In  his  wool  wedding-robe.     For  he  —  for  he, 

Gate-vein  of  this  hearts'  blood  of  Lombardy, 

(If  I  should  falter  now)  —  for  he  is  Thine  ! 

Sordello,  thy  forerunner,  Florentine  ! 

A  herald-star  I  know  thou  didst  absorb 

Relentless  into  the  consummate  orb 

That  scared  it  from  its  right  to  roll  along 

A  sempiternal  path  with  dance  and  song 

Fulfilling  its  allotted  period, 

Serenest  of  the  progeny  of  God ! 

Who  yet  resigns  it  not ;  His  darling  stoops 

With  no  quenched  lights,  desponds  with  no  blank  troops 

Of  disenfranchised  brilliances,  for,  blent 

Utterly  with  thee,  its  shy  element 


Ifi       ONE   BELONGS   TO   DANTE;   HIS   BERTHPLACE. 

Like  thine  upburneth  prosperous  and  clear. 

Still,  what  11  i  approach  the  august  sphere 

Named  now  with  only  one  name,  disentwine 

That  under-current  soft  and  argentine 

From  its  fierce  mate  in  the  majestic  mass 

Leavened  as  the  sea  whose  fire  was  mixt  with  glass 

In  John's  transcendent  vision,  —  launch  once  more 

That  lustre  ?     Dante,  pacer  of  the  shore 

Where  glutted  hell  disgorgeth  filthiest  gloom, 

Unbitten  by  its  whirring  sulphur-spume  — 

Or  whence  the  grieved  and  obscure  waters  slope 

Into  a  darkness  quieted  by  hope  ; 

Plucker  of  amaranths  grown  beneath  God's  eye 

[n  gracious  twilights  where  His  chosen  lie, 

I  would  do  this  !  if  I  should  falter  now  ! 

In  Mantua-territory  half  is  slough 
Half  pine-tree  forest ;  maples,  scarlet-oaks 
Breed  o'er  the  river-beds  ;  even  Mincio  chokes 
With  sand  the  summer  through ;  but 't  is  morass 
In  winter  up  to  Mantua  walls.     There  was, 
Some  thirty  years  before  this  evening's  coil, 
One  spot  reclaimed  from  the  surrounding  spoil, 
Goito  ;  just  a  castle  built  amid 
A  few  low  mountains ;  firs  and  larches  hid 
Their  main  defiles,  and  rings  of  vineyard  bound 
The  rest.     Some  captured  creature  in  a  pound, 
Whose  artless  wonder  quite  precludes  distress, 
Secure  beside  in  its  own  loveliness, 
So  peered  with  airy  head,  below,  above, 


A  VAULT   INSIDE   THE    CASTLE    OF    GOITO,  17 

The  castle  at  its  toils,  the  lapwings  love 

To  glean  among  at  grape-time.     Pass  within. 

A  maze  of  corridors  contrived  for  sin, 

Dusk  winding-stairs,  dim  galleries  got  past, 

You  gain  the  inmost  chambers,  gain  at  last 

A  maple-panelled  room :  that  haze  which  seems 

Floating  about  the  panel,  if  there  gleams 

A  sunbeam  over  it,  will  turn  to  gold 

And  in  light-graven  characters  unfold 

The  Arab's  wisdom  everywhere  ;  what  shade 

Marred  them  a  moment,  those  slim  pillars  made, 

Cut  like  a  company  of  palms  to  prop 

The  roof,  each  kissing  top  entwined  with  top, 

Leaning  together  ;  in  the  carver's  mind 

Some  knot  of  bacchanals,  flushed  cheek  combined 

With  straining  forehead,  shoulders  purpled,  hair 

Diffused  between,  who  in  a  goat-skin  bear 

A  vintage  ;  graceful  sister-palms  !     But  quick 

To  the  main  wonder,  now.     A  vault,  see  ;  thick 

Black  shade  about  the  ceiling,  though  fine  slits 

Across  the  buttress  suffer  light  by  fits 

Upon  a  marvel  in  the  midst.     Nay,  stoop  — 

A  dullish  gray-streaked  cumbrous  font,  a  group 

Round  it,  each  side  of  it,  where'er  one  sees, 

Upholds  it  —  shrinking  Caryatides 

Of  just-tinged  marble  like  Eve's  lilied  flesh 

Beneath  her  Maker's  finger  when  the  fresh 

First  pulse  of  life  shot  brightening  the  snow. 

The  font's  edge  burdens  every  shoulder,  so 


18        AND    WHAT   BORDELLO    WOULD    SEE   THERE. 

They  muse  upon  the  ground,  eyelids  half  closed ; 

Some,  with  meek  arms  behind  their  backs  disposed. 

Some,  crossed  above  their  bosoms,  some,  to  veil 

Their  eyes,  some,  propping  chin  and  cheek  so  pale, 

Some,  hanging  slack  an  utter  helpless  length 

Dead  as  a  buried  vestal  whose  whole  strength 

Goes  when  the  grate  above  shuts  heavily. 

So  dwell  these  noiseless  girls,  patient  to  see, 

Like  priestesses  because  of  sin  impure 

Penanced  for  ever,  who  resigned  endure, 

Having  that  once  drunk  sweetness  to  the  oregs. 

And  every  eve,  Sordello's  visit  begs 

Pardon  for  them :  constant  as  eve  he  came 

To  sit  beside  each  in  her  turn,  the  same 

As  one  c e  them,  a  certain  space  :  and  awe 

Made  a  great  indistinctness  till  he  saw 

Sunset  slant  cheerful  through  the  buttress-chinks, 

Gold  seven  times  globed ;  surely  our  maiden  shrinks 

And  a  smile  stirs  her  as  if  one  faint  grain 

Her  load  were  lightened,  one  shade  less  the  stain 

Obscured  her  forehead,  yet  one  more  bead  slipt 

From  off  the  rosary  whereby  the  crypt 

Keeps  count  of  the  contritions  of  its  charge  ? 

Then  with  a  step  more  light,  a  heart  more  large, 

He  may  depart,  leave  her  and  every  one 

To  linger  out  the  penance  in  mute  stone. 

Ah,  but  Sordello  ?     'T  is  the  tale  I  mean 

To  tell  you.     In  this  castle  may  be  seen, 

On  the  hill-tops,  or  underneath  the  vines, 


HIS    BOYHOOD    IN    THE    DOMAIN    OF    ECELIN.         19 

Or  eastward  by  the  mound  of  firs  and  pines 

That  shuts  out  Mantua,  still  in  loneliness, 

A  slender  boy  in  a  loose  page's  dress, 

Sordello :  do  but  look  on  him  awhile 

Watching  ('t  is  autumn)  with  an  earnest  smile 

The  noisy  flock  of  thievish  birds  at  work 

Among  the  yellowing  vineyards  ;  see  him  lurk 

('T  is  winter  with  its  sullenest  of  storms) 

Beside  that  arras-length  of  broidered  forms, 

On  tiptoe,  lifting  in  both  hands  a  light 

Which  makes  yon  warrior's  visage  flutter  bright 

• —  Ecelo,  dismal  father  of  the  brood, 

And  Ecelin,  close  to  the  girl  he  wooed, 

Auria,  and  their  Child,  with  all  his  wives 

From  Agnes  to  the  Tuscan  that  survives, 

Lady  of  the  castle,  Adelaide.     His  face 

—  Look,  now  he  turns  away !     Yourselves  shall  trace 

(The  delicate  nostril  swerving  wide  and  fine, 

A  sharp  and  restless  lip,  so  well  combine 

With  that  calm  brow)  a  soul  fit  to  receive 

Delight  at  every  sense ;  you  can  believe 

Sordello  foremost  in  the  regal  class 

Nature  has  broadly  severed  from  her  mass 

Of  men,  and  framed  for  pleasure,  as  she  frames 

Some  happy  lands,  that  have  luxurious  names, 

For  loose  fertility ;  a  footfall  there 

Suffices  to  upturn  to  the  warm  air 

Half-germinating  spices ;  mere  decay 

Produces  richer  life  ;  and  day  by  day 


20         HOW  A  POET'S  SOUL  COMES  INTO  PLAY. 

New  pollen  on  the  lily-petal  grows, 

And  still  more  labyrinthine  buds  the  rose. 

You  recognize  at  once  the  finer  dress 

Of  flesh  that  amply  lets  in  loveliness 

At  eye  and  ear,  while  round  the  rest  is  furled 

(As  though  she  would  not  trust  them  with  her  world) 

A  veil  that  shows  a  sky  not  near  so  blue, 

And  lets  but  half  the  sun  look  fervid  through. 

How  can  such  love  ?  —  like  souls  on  each  full-fraught 

Discovery  brooding,  blind  at  first  to  aught 

Beyond  its  beauty,  till  exceeding  love 

Becomes  an  aching  weight ;  and,  to  remove 

A  curse  that  haunts  such  natures  —  to  preclude 

Their  finding  out  themselves  can  work  no  good 

To  what  they  love  nor  make  it  very  blest 

By  their  endeavor,  —  they  are  fain  invest 

The  lifeless  thing  with  life  from  their  own  soul, 

Availing  it  to  purpose,  to  control, 

To  dwell  distinct  and  have  peculiar  joy 

And  separate  interests  that  may  employ 

That  beauty  fitly,  for  its  proper  sake. 

Nor  rest  they  here ;  fresh  births  of  beauty  wake 

Fresh  homage,  every  grade  of  love  is  past, 

With  every  mode  of  loveliness  :  then  cast 

Inferior  idols  off  their  borrowed  crown 

Before  a  coming  glory.     Up  and  down 

Buns  arrowy  fire,  while  earthly  forms  combine 

To  throb  the  secret  forth ;  a  touch  divine  — 

And  the  scaled  eyeball  owns  the  mystic  rod : 


WHAT   DENOTES   SUCH   A   SOUI/S    PKOGKE8S.        21 

Visibly  through  His  garden  walketh  God. 
So  fare  they.     Now  revert.     One  character 
Denotes  them  through  the  progress  and  the  stir,  — 
A  need  to  blend  with  each  external  charm, 
Bury  themselves,  the  whole  heart  wide  and  warm, 
In  something  not  themselves ;  they  would  belong 
To  what  they  worship  —  stronger  and  more  strong 
Thus  prodigally  fed  —  which  gathers  shape 
And  feature,  soon  imprisons  past  escape 
The  votary  framed  to  love  and  to  submit 
Nor  ask,  as  passionately  he  kneels  to  it, 
Whence  grew  the  idol's  empery.     So  runs 
A  legend :  light  had  birth  ere  moons  and  suns, 
Flowing  through  space  a  river  and  alone, 
Till  chaos  burst  and  blank  the  spheres  were  strown 
Hither  and  thither,  foundering  and  blind, 
When  into  each  of  them  rushed  light  —  to  find 
Itself  no  place,  foiled  of  its  radiant  chance. 
Let  such  forego  their  just  inheritance  ! 
If  ir  there  's  a  class  that  eagerly  looks,  too, 
Oi  beauty,  but,  unlike  the  gentler  crew, 
Proclaims  each  new  revealment  born  a  twin 
With  a  distinctest  consciousness  within 
Referring  still  the  quality,  now  first 
Revealed,  to  their  own  soul  —  its  instinct  nursed 
In  silence,  now  remembered  better,  shown 
More  thoroughly,  but  not  the  less  their  own ; 
A  dream  come  true ;  the  special  exercise 
Of  any  special  function  that  implies 


£2     HOW   POETS    CLASS   AT   LENGTH FOR   HONOR, 

The  being  fair,  or  good,  or  wise,  or  strong, 
"Dormant  within  their  nature  all  along  — 
Whose  fault  ?     So,  homage,  other  souls  direct 
Without,  turns  inward ;  "  How  should  this  deject 
Thee,   soul?"   they   murmur;  "wherefore   strength 

quelled 

Because,  its  trivial  accidents  withheld, 
Organs  are  missed  that  clog  the  world,  inert, 
Wanting  a  will,  to  quicken  and  exert, 
Like  thine — existence  cannot  satiate, 
Cannot  surprise  ?  laugh  thou  at  envious  fate, 
Who,  from  earth's  simplest  combination  stampt 
With  individuality — uncrampt 
By  living  its  faint  elemental  life, 
Dost  soar  to  heaven's  complexest  essence,  rife 
With  grandeurs,  unaffronted  to  the  last, 
Equal  to  being  all ! " 

In  truth?     Thou  hast 

Life,  then  —  wilt  challenge  life  for  us :  our  race 
Is  vindicated  so,  obtains  its  place 
In  thy  ascent,  the  first  of  us ;  whom  we 
May  follow,  to  the  meanest,  finally,  ^ 

With  our  more  bounded  wills  ? 

Ah,  but  to  find 

A  certain  mood  enervate  such  a  mind, 
Counsel  it  slumber  in  the  solitude 
Thus  reached  nor,  stooping,  task  for  mankind's  good 
Its  nature  just  as  life  and  time  accord 
*  —  Too  narrow  an  arena  to  reward 


OK    SHAME WHICH    MAT    THE    GODS    AVEKT       2' 

Emprize  —  the  world's  occasion  worthless  since 

Not  absolutely  fitted  to  evince 

Its  mastery ! "     Or  if  yet  worse  befall, 

And  a  desire  possess  it  to  put  all 

That  nature  forth,  forcing  our  straitened  sphere 

Contain-  it,  —  to  display  completely  here 

The  mastery  another  life  should  learn, 

Thrusting  in  time  eternity's  concern,  — 

So  that  Sordello . . .  Fool,  who  spied  the  mark 

Of  leprosy  upon  him,  violet-dark 

Already  as  he  loiters  ?     Born  just  now, 

With  the  new  century,  beside  the  glow 

And  efflorescence  out  of  barbarism ; 

Witness  a  Greek  or  two  from  the  abysm 

That  stray  through  Florence-town  with  studious  air, 

Calming  the  chisel  of  that  Pisan  pair : 

If  Nicolo  should  carve  a  Christus  yet ! 

While  at  Siena  is  Guidone  set, 

Forehead  on  hand ;  a  painful  birth  must  be 

Matured  ere  Saint  Eufemia's  sacristy 

Or  transept  gather  fruits  of  one  great  gaze 

At  the  moon :  look  you !     The  same  orange  haze,  — 

The  same  blue  stripe  round  that  —  and,  i'  the  midst, 

Thy  spectral  whiteness,  Mother-maid,  who  didst 

Pursue  the  dizzy  painter  ! 

Woe,  then,  worth 
Any  officious  babble  letting  forth 
The  leprosy  confirmed  and  ruinous 
To  spirit  lodged  in  a  contracted  house ! 


24  FROM    BORDELLO,   NOW   IN    CHILDHOOD 

Go  back  to  the  beginning,  rather ;  blend 

It  gently  with  Sordello's  life  ;  the  end 

Is  piteous,  you  may  see,  but  much  between 

Pleasant  enough.    Meantime,  some  pyx  to  screen 

The  full-grown  pest,  sone  lid  to  shut  upon 

The  goblin !     So  they  found  at  Babylon, 

(Colleagues,  mad  Lucius  and  sage  Antonine) 

Sacking  the  city,  by  Apollo's  shrine, 

In  rummaging  among  the  rarities, 

A  certain  coffer ;  he  who  made  the  prize 

Opened  it  greedily ;  and  out  there  curled 

Just  such  another  plague,  for  half  the  world 

Was  stung.    Crawl  in  then,  hag,  and  couch  asquat, 

Keeping  that  blotchy  bosom  thick  in  spot 

Until  your  time  is  ripe !     The  coffer-lid 

Is  fastened,  and  the  coffer  safely  hid 

Under  the  Loxian's  choicest  gifts  of  gold. 

Who  will  may  hear  Sordello's  story  told, 
And  how  he  never  could  remember  when 
He  dwelt  not  at  Goito.     Calmly,  then, 
About  this  secret  lodge  of  Adelaide's 
Glided  his  youth  away ;  beyond  the  glades 
On  the  fir-forest's  border,  and  the  rim 
Of  the  low  range  of  mountain,  was  for  him 
No  other  world :  but  this  appeared  his  own 
To  wander  through  at  pleasure  and  alone. 
The  castle  too  seemed  empty ;  fax  and  wide 
Might  he  disport ;  only  the  northern  side 
Lay  under  a  mysterious  interdict  — 


THE    DELIGHTS    OF    HIS    CHILDISH    FANCY,  25 

Slight,  just  enough  remembered  to  restrict     * 
His  roaming  to  the  corridors,  the  vault 
Where  those  font-bearers  expiate  their  fault, 
The  maple-chamber,  and  the  little  nooks 
And  nests,  and  breezy  parapet  that  looks 
Over  the  woods  to  Mantua :  there  he  strolled. 
Some  foreign  women-servants,  very  old, 
Tended  and  crept  about  him  —  all  his  clew 
To  the  world's  business  and  embroiled  ado 
Distant  a  dozen  hill-tops  at  the  most 

And  first  a  simple  sense  of  life  engrossed 
Sordello  in  his  drowsy  Paradise  ; 
The  day's  adventures  for  the  day  suffice  — 
Its  constant  tribute  of  perceptions  strange, 
With  sleep  and  stir  in  healthy  interchange, 
Suffice,  and  leave  him  for  the  next  at  ease 
Like  the  great  palmer-worm  that  strips  the  trees, 
Eats  the  life  out  of  every  luscious  plant, 
And,  when  September  finds  them  sere  or  scant, 
Puts  forth  two  wondrous  winglets,  alters  quite, 
And  hies  him  after  unforeseen  delight. 
So  fed  Sordello,  not  a  shard  disheathed ; 
As  ever,  round  each  new  discovery,  wreathed 
Luxuriantly  the  fancies  infantine 
His  admiration,  bent  on  making  fine 
Its  novel  friend  at  any  risk,  would  fling 
In  gay  profusion  forth :  a  ficklest  king, 
Confessed  those  minions !     Eager  to  dispense 
So  mQch  from  his  own  stock  of  thought  and  sense 
a 


26      WHICH    COULD    BLOW   OUT   A    GREAT    BUBBLE, 

As  might  enable  each  to  stand  alone 

And  serve  him  for  a  fellow ;  with  his  own, 

Joining  the  qualities  that  just  before 

Had  graced  some  older  favorite.     Thus  they  wore 

A  fluctuating  halo,  yesterday 

Set  flicker  and  to-morrow  filched  away,  — 

Those  upland  objects  each  of  separate  name, 

Each  with  an  aspect  never  twice  the  same, 

Waxing  and  waning  as  the  new-born  host 

Of  fancies,  like  a  single  night's  hoar-frost, 

Gave  to  familiar  things  a  face  grotesque ; 

Only,  preserving  through  the  mad  burlesque 

A  grave  regard.     Conceive  !  the  orpine-patch 

Blossoming  earliest  on  the  log-house-thatch 

The  day  those  archers  wound  along  the  vines  — 

Related  to  the  Chief  that  left  their  lines 

To  climb  with  clinking  step  the  northern  stair 

Up  to  the  solitary  chambers  where 

Sordello  never  came.     Thus  thrall  reached  thrall ; 

He  o'er-festooning  every  interval, 

As  the  adventurous  spider,  making  light 

Of  distance,  shoots  her  threads  from  depth  to  height, 

From  barbican  to  battlement ;  so  flung 

Fantasies  forth  and  in  their  centre  swung 

Our  architect,  —  the  breezy  morning  fresh 

Above,  and  merry,  —  all  his  waving  mesh 

Laughing  with  lucid  dew-drops  rainbow-edged. 

This  world  of  ours  by  tacit  pact  is  pledged 

To  laying  such  a  spangled  fabric  low 


BEING   SECURE   AWHILE   FROM   INTRUSION.          27 

WTiether  by  gradual  brush  or  gallant  blow. 

But  its  abundant  will  was  balked  here :  doubt 

Rose  tardily  in  one  so  fenced  about 

From  most  that  nurtures  judgment,  care  and  pain : 

Judgment,  that  dull  expedient  we  are  fain, 

Less  favored,  to  adopt  betimes  and  force 

Stead  us,  diverted  from  our  natural  course 

Of  j°ys> —  contrive  some  yet  amid  the  dearth, 

Vary  and  render  them,  it  may  be,  worth 

Most  we  forego.     Suppose  Sordello  hence 

Selfish  enough,  without  a  moral  sense 

However  feeble  ;  what  informed  the  boy 

Others  desired  a  portion  in  his  joy  ? 

Or  say  a  ruthful  chance  broke  woof  and  warp  — 

A  heron's  nest  beat  down  by  March  winds  sharp, 

A  fawn  breathless  beneath  the  precipice, 

A  bird  with  unsoiled  breast  and  filmless  eyes 

Warm  in  the  brake  —  could  these  undo  the  trance 

Lapping  Sordello  ?     Not  a  circumstance 

That  makes  for  you,  friend  Naddo  !     Eat  fern-seed 

And  peer  beside  us  and  report  indeed 

If   (your   word)    "  genius "    dawned    with    throes    and 

stings 

And  the  whole  fiery  catalogue,  while  springs 
Summers  and  winters  quietly  came  and  went 

Time  put  at  length  that  period  to  content, 
By  right  the  world  should  have  imposed  :  bereft 
Of  its  good  offices,  Sordello,  left 
To  study  his  companions,  managed  rip 


£8        BUT   IT    COMES  ;   AND    NEW-BORN   JUDGMENT 

Their  fringe  off,  learn  the  true  relationship, 

Core  with  its  crust,  their  natures  with  his  own : 

Amid  his  wild-wood  sights  he  lived  alone. 

As  if  the  poppy  felt  with  him !     Though  he 

Partook  the  poppy's  red  effrontery 

Till  Autumn  spoiled  their  fleering  quite  with  rain, 

And,  turbanless,  a  coarse  brown  rattling  crane 

Lay   bare.      That 's    gone !      Yet   why   renounce,   for 

that, 

His  disenchanted  tributaries  —  flat 
Perhaps,  but  scarce  so  utterly  forlorn, 
Their  simple  presence  might  not  well  be  borne 
Whose  parley  was  a  transport  once :  recall 
The  poppy's  gifts,  it  flaunts  you,  after  all, 
A  poppy :  why  distrust  the  evidence 
Of  each  soon  satisfied  and  healthy  sense  ? 
The  new-born  judgment  answered :  "  little  boots 
Beholding  other  creatures'  attributes 
And  having  none  ! "  or,  say  that  it  sufficed, 
"  Yet,  could  one  but  possess,  one's  self,"  (enticed 
Judgment)  "  some  special  office  ! "     Naught  beside 
Serves  you  ?    "  Well,  then,  be  somehow  justified 
For  this  ignoble  wish  to  circumscribe 
And  concentrate,  rather  than  swell,  the  tribe 
Of  actual  pleasures :  what,  now,  from  without 
Effects  it  ?  —  proves,  despite  a  lurking  doubt, 
Mere  sympathy  sufficient,  trouble  spared  ? 
That  tasting  joys  by  proxy  thus,  you  fared 
The  better  for  them  ?  "     Thus  much  craved  his  soul. 


DECIDES   THAT   HE  NEEDS    SYMPATHIZERS.          29 

AJas,  from  the  beginning  love  is  whole 

And  true  ;  if  sure  of  naught  beside,  most  sure 

Of  its  own  truth  at  least ;  nor  may  endure 

A  crowd  to  see  its  face,  that  cannot  know 

How  hot  the  pulses  throb  its  heart  below. 

While  its  own  helplessness  and  utter  want 

Of  means  to  worthily  be  ministrant 

To  what  it  worships,  do  but  fan  the  more 

Its  flame,  exalt  the  idol  far  before 

Itself  as  it  would  have  it  ever  be. 

Souls  like  Sordello,  on  the  contrary, 

Coerced  and  put  to  shame,  retaining  will, 

Care  little,  take  mysterious  comfort  still, 

But  look  forth  tremblingly  to  ascertain 

If  others  judge  their  claims  not  urged  in  vain, 

And  say  for  them  their  stifled  thoughts  aloud. 

So,  they  must  ever  li ve  before  a  crowd : 

—  "  Vanity,"  Naddo  tells  you. 

Whence  contrive 

A  crowd,  now  ?     From  these  women  just  alive, 
That  archer-troop  ?     Forth  glided  —  not  alone 
Each  painted  warrior,  every  girl  of  stone, 
Nor  Adelaide  (bent  double  o'er  a  scroll, 
One  maiden  at  her  knees,  that  eve,  his  soul 
Shook  as  he  stumbled  through  the  arras'd  glooms 
On  them,  for,  'mid  quaint  robes  and  weird  perfumes, 
Started  the  meagre  Tuscan  up,  —  her  eyes, 
rhe  maiden's,  also,  bluer  with  surprise) 
»—  But  the  entire  out-world  :  whatever,  scraps 


80       HE   THEREFORE    CREATES    SUCH   A    COMPANX, 

And  snatches,  song  and  story,  dreams  perhaps, 

Conceited  the  world's  offices,  and  he 

Had  hitherto  transferred  to  flower  or  tree, 

Nor  counted  a  befitting  heritage 

Each,  of  its  own  right,  singly  to  engage 

Some  man,  no  other,  —  such  now  dared  to  stand 

Alone.     Strength,  wisdom,  grace  on  every  hand 

Soon  disengaged  themselves,  and  he  discerned 

A  sort  of  human  life  .  at  least,  was  turned 

A  stream  of  lifelike  figures  through  his  brain. 

Lord,  liegeman,  valvassor  and  suzerain, 

Ere  he  could  choose,  surrounded  him ;  a  stuff 

To  work  his  pleasure  on ;  there,  sure  enough : 

But  as  for  gazing,  what  shall  fix  that  gaze  ? 

Are  they  to  simply  testify  the  ways 

He  who  convoked  them  sends  his  soul  along 

With  the  cloud's  thunder  or  a  dove's  brood-song  ? 

—  While  they  live  each  his  life,  boast  each  his  own 

Peculiar  dower  of  bliss,  stand  each  alone 

In  some  one  point  where  something  dearest  loved 

Is  easiest  gained  —  far  worthier  to  be  proved 

Than  aught  he  envies  in  the  forest-wights ! 

No  simple  and  self-evident  delights, 

But  mixed  desires  of  unimagined  range, 

Contrasts  or  combinations,  new  and  strange, 

Irksome  perhaps,  yet  plainly  recognized 

By  this,  the  sudden  company  —  loves  prized 

By  those  who  are  to  prize  his  own  amount 

Of  loves.     Once  care  because  such  make  account, 


EACH    OF    WHICH,   LEADING   ITS   OWN   LIFE,        ol 

\llow  a  foreign  recognition  stamp 

The  current  value,  and  his  crowd  shall  vamp 

Him  counterfeits  enough  ;  and  so  their  print 

Be  on  the  piece,  't  is  gold,  attests  the  mint, 

And  "  good,"  pronounce  they  whom  his  new  appeal 

Is  made  to :  if  their  casual  print  conceal  — 

Tliis  arbitrary  good  of  theirs  o'ergloss 

What  he  have  lived  without,  nor  felt  the  loss  — 

Qualities  strange,  ungainly,  wearisome, 

—  What  matter  ?  so  must  speech  expand  the  dumb 

Part-sigh,  part-smile  with  which  Sordello,  late 

No  foolish  woodland-sights  could  satiate, 

Betakes  himself  to  study  hungrily 

Just  what  the  puppets  his  crude  fantasy 

Supposes  notablest,  popes,  kings,  priests,  knights, 

May  please  to  promulgate  for  appetites ; 

Accepting  all  their  artificial  joys 

Not  as  he  views  them,  but  as  he  employs 

Each  shape  to  estimate  the  other's  stock 

Of  attributes,  that  on  a  marshalled  flock 

Of  authorized  enjoyments  he  may  spend 

Himself,  be  men,  now,  as  he  used  to  blend 

With  tree  and  flower  —  nay  more  entirely,  else 

'T  were  mockery :  for  instance,  "  how  excels 

My  life  that  chieftain's  ?  "  (who  apprised  the  youtn 

Ecelin,  here,  becomes  this  month,  in  truth, 

Imperial  Vicar  ?)     "  Turns  he  in  his  tent 

Remiflsly  ?     Be  it  so  —  my  head  is  bent 

Deliciously  amid  my  girls  to  sleep. 


82  HAS    QUALITIES   IMPOSSIBLE   TO    A   HOT, 

What  if  he  stalks  the  Trentine-pass  ?     Yon  steep 
I  climbed  an  hour  ago  with  little  toil  — 
We  are  alike  there.     But  can  I,  too,  foil 
The  Guelfs'  paid  stabber,  carelessly  afford 
Saint  Mark's  a  spectacle,  the  sleight  o'  the  sword 
Baffling  their  project  in  a  moment  ?  "     Here 
No  rescue !     Poppy  he  is  none,  but  peer 
To  Ecelin,  assuredly :  his  hand. 
Fashioned  no  otherwise,  should  wield  a  brand 
With  Ecelin's  success  —  try,  now !     He  soon 
Was  satisfied,  returned  as  to  the  moon 
From  earth ;  left  each  abortive  boy's-attempt 
For  feats,  from  failure  happily  exempt, 
In  fancy  at  his  beck.     "  One  day  I  will 
Accomplish  it !     Are  they  not  older  stijl 
• —  Not  grown  up  men  and  women  ?     'T  is  beside 
Only  a  dream ;  and  though  I  must  abide 
With  dreams  now,  I  may  find  a  thorough  vent 
For  all  myself,  acquire  an  instrument 
For  acting  what  these  people  act ;  my  soul 
Hunting  a  body  out,  may  gain  its  whole 
Desire  some  day ! "     How  else  express  chagrin 
And  resignation,  show  the  hope  steal  in 
With  which  he  let  sink  from  an  aching  wrist 
The  rousrh-hewn  ash  bow  ?  straight,  a  gold  shaft  hissed 
Into  the  Syrian  air,  struck  Malek  down 
Superbly !     "  Crosses  to  the  breach !     God's  Town 
Is  gamed   Him  back!"      Why   bend  rough  ash-bo\v? 
more  ? 


SO,  ONLY  TO  BE  APPROPRIATED  IN  FANCT,   33 

Thus  lives  he :  if  not  careless  as  before, 
Comforted :  for  one  may  anticipate, 
Rehearse  the  Future,  be  prepared  when  fate 
Shall  have  prepared  in  turn  real  men  whose  names 
Startle,  real  places  of  enormous  fames, 
Este  abroad  and  Ecelin  at  home 
To  worship  him,  —  Mantua,  Verona,  Rome 
To  witness  it     Who  grudges  time  so  spent  ? 
Rather  test  qualities  to  heart's  content  — 
Summon  them,  thrice  selected,  near  and  far  — 
Compress  the  starriest  into  one  star, 
And  grasp  the  whole  at  once ! 

The  pageant  thinned 

Accordingly ;  from,  rank  to  rank,  like  wind 
His  spirit  passed  to  winnow  and  divide ; 
Back  fell  the  simpler  phantasms ;  every  side 
The  strong  clave  to  the  wise ;  with  either  classed 
The  beauteous ;  so,  till  two  or  three  amassed 
Mankind's  beseemingn esses,  and  reduced 
Themselves  eventually,  graces  loosed, 
And  lavished  strengths,  to  heighten  up  One  Shape 
Whose  potency  no  creature  should  escape. 
Can  it  be  Friedrich  of  the  bowmen's  talk  ? 
Surely  that  grape-juice,  bubbling  at  the  stalk, 
Is  some  gray  scorching  Saracenic  wine 
The  Kaiser  quaffs  with  the  Miramoline  — 
Those  swarthy  hazel-clusters,  seamed  and  chapped,' 
Or  filberts  russet-sheathed  and  velvet-capped, 
Are  dates  plucked  from  the  bough  John  Brienne  sent, 
2*  o 


54        AND   PRACTISED    ON   TILL   THE   REAL    COMB. 

To  keep  in  mind  his  sluggish  armament 

Of  Canaan.  —  Friedrich's,  all  the  pomp  and  fierce 

Demeanor  !     But  harsh  sounds  and  sights  transpierce 

So  rarely  the  serene  cloud  where  he  dwells, 

Whose  looks  enjoin,  whose  lightest  words  are  spells 

On  the  obdurate  !     That  right  arm  indeed 

Has  thunder  for  its  slave ;  but  where 's  the  need 

Of  thunder  if  the  stricken  multitude 

Hearkens,  arrested  in  its  angriest  mood, 

While  songs  go  up  exulting,  then  dispread, 

Dispart,  disperse,  lingering  overhead 

Like  an  escape  of  angels  ?    'T  is  the  tune, 

Nor  much  unlike  the  words  the  women  croon 

Smilingly,  colorless  and  faint-designed 

Each,  as  a  worn-out  queen's  face  some  remind 

Of  her  extreme  youth's  love-tales.     "  Eglamor 

Made  that ! "     Half  minstrel  and  half  emperor, 

What  but  ill  objects  vexed  him  ?     Such  he  slew. 

The  kinder  sort  were  easy  to  subdue 

By  those  ambrosial  glances,  dulcet  tones ; 

And  these  a  gracious  hand  advanced  to  thrones 

Beneath  him.     Wherefore  twist  and  torture  this, 

Striving  to  name  afresh  the  antique  bliss, 

Instead  of  saying,  neither  less  nor  more, 

He  had  discovered,  as  our  world  before, 

Apollo  ?     That  shall  be  the  name  ;  nor  bid 

Me  fag  by  rag  expose  how  patchwork  hid 

The  youth  —  what  thefts  of  every  clime  and  daj 

Contributed  to  purfle  the  array 


HE  MEANS  TO  BE  PERFECT  —  SAT,  APOLLO:   85 

He  climbed  with  (June  at  deep)  some  dose  ravine 
'Mid  clatter  of  its  million  pebbles  sheen, 
Over  which,  singing  soft,  the  runnel  slipt 
Elate  with  rains :  into  whose  streamlet  dipt 
He  foot,  yet  trod,  you  thought,  with  unwet  sock  — 
Though  really  on  the  stubs  of  living  rock 
Ages  ago  it  crenneled ;  vines  for  roof, 
Lindens  for  wall ;  before  him,  aye  aloof, 
Flittered  in  the  cool  some  azure  damsel-fly, 
Born  of  the  simmering  quiet,  there  to  die. 
Emerging  whence,  Apollo  still,  he  spied 
Mighty  descents  of  forest ;  multiplied 
Tuft  on  tuft,  here,  the  frolic  myrtle-trees, 
There  gendered  the  grave  maple-stocks  at  ease. 
And,  proud  of  its  observer,  strait  the  wood 
Tried  old  surprises  on  him  ;  black  it  stood 
A  sudden  barrier  ('t  was  a  cloud  passed  o'er) 
So  dead  and  dense,  the  tiniest  brute  no  more 
Must  pass ;  yet  presently  (the  cloud  despatched) 
Each  clump,  behold,  was  glistering  detached 
A  shrub,  oak-boles  shrunk  into  ilex-stems  ! 
Yet  could  not  he  denounce  the  stratagems 
He  saw  thro',  till,  hours  tnence,  aloft  would  hang 
White  summer-lightnings ;  as  it  sank  and  sprang 
To  measure,  that  whole  palpitating  breast 
Of  heaven,  't  was  Apollo,  nature  prest 
At  eve  to  worship. 

Time  stole  :  by  degrees 
The  Pythons  perish  off;  his  votaries 


36       AND    APOLLO    MUST   ONE   DAT   FIND    DAPHNE. 

Sink  to  respectful  distance ;  songs  redeem 

Their  pains,  but  briefer ;  their  dismissals  seem 

Emphatic ;  only  girls  are  very  slow 

To  disappear  —  his  Delians  !     Some  that  glow 

0'  the  instant,  more  with  earlier  loves  to  wrench 

Away,  reserves  to  quell,  disdains  to  quench ; 

Alike  in  one  material  circumstance  — 

All  soon  or  late  adore  Apollo !     Glance 

The  bevy  through,  divine  Apollo's  choice, 

His  Daphne  !    "  We  secure  Count  Richard's  voice 

In  Este's  counsels,  good  for  Este's  ends 

As  our  Taurello,"  say  his  faded  friends, 

"  By  granting  him  our  Palma  ! "  —  The  sole  child, 

They  mean,  of  Agnes  Este  who  beguiled 

Ecelin,  years  before  this  Adelaide 

Wedded  and  turned  him  wicked :  "  but  the  maid 

Rejects  his  suit,"  those  sleepy  women  boast. 

She,  scorning  all  beside,  deserves  the  most 

Sordello :  so,  conspicuous  in  his  world 

Of  dreams  sat  Palma.     How  the  tresses  curled 

Into  a  sumptuous  swell  of  gold  and  wound 

About  her  like  a  glory  !  even  the  ground 

Was  bright  as  with  spilt  sunbeams ;  breathe  not,  breathe 

Not !  —  poised,  see,  one  leg  doubled  underneath 

Its  small  foot  buried  in  the  dimpling  snow, 

Rests,  but  the  other,  listlessly  below, 

O'er  the  couch-side  swings  feeling  for  cool  air, 

Tlxc  vein-streaks  swoln  a  richer  violet  where 

fhe  languid  blood  lies  heavU    ;  yet  calm 


BTJT   WHEN   WELL   THIS   DREAM   TURN   TBUTH?      37 

On  her  slight  prop,  each  flat  and  outspread  palm, 
As  but  suspended  in  the  act  to  rise 
By  consciousness  of  beauty,  whence  her  eyes 
Turn  with  so  frank  a  triumph,  for  she  meets 
Apollo's  gaze  in  the  pine-glooms. 

Time  fleets : 

That 's  worst !     Because  the  pre-appointed  age 
Approaches.     Fate  is  tardy  with  the  stage 
And  crowd  she  promised.     Lean  he  grows  and  pale, 
Though  restlessly  at  rest.     Hardly  avail 
Fancies  to  soothe  him.     Time  steals,  yet  alone 
He  tarries  here  !     The  earnest  smile  is  gone. 
How  long  this  might  continue,  matters  not ; 

—  For  ever,  possibly ;  since  to  the  spot 
None  come :  our  lingering  Taurello  quits 
Mantua  at  last,  and  light  our  lady  flits 
Back  to  her  place  disburdened  of  a  care. 
Strange  —  to  be  constant  here  if  he  is  there ! 
Is  it  distrust  ?     O,  never  !  for  they  both 
Goad  Ecelin  alike  —  Romano's  growth 

So  daily  manifest,  that  Azzo  's  dumb 

And  Richard  wavers  :  let  but  Friedrich  come ! 

—  Find  matter  for  the  minstrelsy's  report, 
Lured  from  the  Isle  and  its  young  Kaiser's  court 
To  sing  us  a  Messina  morning  up, 

And,  double  rillet  of  a  drinking-cup, 
Sparkle  along  to  ease  the  land  of  drouth, 
Nbrthwa  "d  to  Provence  that,  and  thus  far  south 
The  othei      What  a  method  to  apprise 


38  FOB   THE   TIME   IS    RIPE,   AND    HE   BEADT. 

Neighbors  of  births,  espousals,  obsequies  ! 
Which  in  their  very  tongue  the  Troubadour 
Records  ;  and  his  performance  makes  a  tour, 
For  Trouveres  bear  the  miracle  about, 
Explain  its  cunning  to  the  vulgar  rout, 
Until  the  Formidable  House  is  famed 
Over  the  country  —  as  Taurello  aimed, 
Who  introduced,  although  the  rest  adopt, 
The  novelty.     Such  games,  her  absence  stopped, 
Begin  afresh  now  Adelaide,  recluse 
No  longer,  in  the  light  of  day  pursues 
Her  plans  at  Mantua :  whence  an  accident 
Which,  breaking  on  Sordello's  mixed  content, 
Opened,  like  any  flash  that  cures  the  blind, 
The  veritable  business  of  mankind. 


BOOK    THE    SECOND. 

THIS     BUBBLE     OF     FANCY, 

THE  woods  were  long  austere  with  snow :  at  last 
Pink  leaflets  budded  on  the  beech,  and  fast 
Larches,  scattered  through  pine-tree  solitudes, 
Brightened,  "  as  in  the  slumbrous  heart  o'  the  woods 
Our  buried  year,  a  witch,  grew  young  again 
To  placid  incantations,  and  that  stain 
About  were  from  her  cauldron,  green  smoke  blent 
With  those  black  pines  "  —  so  Eglamor  gave  vent 
To  a  chance  fancy.     Whence  a  just  rebuke 
From  his  companion  ;  brother  Naddo  shook 
The  solemnest  of  brows  ;  "  Beware,"  he  said, 
"  Of  setting  up  conceits  in  nature's  stead ! " 
Forth  wandered  our  Sordello.     Naught  so  sure 
As  that  to-day's  adventure  will  secure 
Palma,  the  visioned  lady  —  only  pass 
O'er  yon  damp  mound  and  its  exhausted  grass, 
Under  that  brake  where  sundawn  feeds  the  stalks 
Of  withered  fern  with  gold,  into  those  walks 
Of  pine,  and  take  her !     Buoyantly  he  went. 
Again  his  stooping  forehead  was  besprent 
With  dew-drops  from  the  skirting  ferns.     Then  wide 
Opened  the  great  morass,  shot  every  side 
With  flashing  water  through  and  through  ;  a-shine, 


40          WHEN    GREATEST    AND    BRIGHTEST,    BURSTS. 

Thick-steaming,  all  alive.     Whose  shape  divine 

Quivered  i'  the  farthest  rainbow- vapour,  glanced 

Athwart  the  flying  herons  ?     He  advanced, 

But  warily  ;  though  Mincio  leaped  no  more, 

Each  footfall  burst  up  in  the  marish-floor 

A  diamond  jet :  and  if  he  stopped  to  pick 

Rose-lichen,  or  molest  the  leeches  quick, 

And  circling  blood-worms,  minnow,  newt  or  loach, 

A  sudden  pond  would  silently  encroach 

This  way  and  that.     On  Palma  passed.     The  verge 

Of  a  new  wood  was  gained.     She  will  emerge 

Flushed,  now,  and  panting,  —  crowds  to  see,  —  will  OWE 

She  loves  him  —  Boniface  to  hear,  to  groan, 

To  leave  his  suit !     One  screen  of  pine-trees  still 

Opposes  ;  but  —  the  startling  spectacle  — 

Mantua,  this  time !     Under  the  walls  —  a  crowd 

Indeed,  real  men  and  women,  gay  and  loud 

Round  a  pavilion.     How  he  stood  ! 

In  truth 

No  prophecy  had  come  to  pass :  his  youth 
In  its  prune  now  —  and  where  was  homage  poured 
Upon  Sordello?  —  born  to  be  adored, 
And  suddenly  discovered  weak,  scarce  made 
To  cope  with  any,  cast  into  the  shade 
By  this  and  this.     Yet  something  seemed  to  prick 
And  tingle  in  his  blood  ;  a  sleight  —  a  trick  — 
And  much  would  be  explained.     It  went  for  naught  — 
The  best  of  their  endowments  were  ill  bought 
With  his  identity  ;  nay,  the  conceit, 


AT  A   COURT   OF   LOVE,   A    MINSTREL    SINGS.        41 

That  this  day's  roving  led  to  Palma's  feet 

Was  not  so  vain  —  list !     The  word,  "  Palma ! "     Steal 

Aside,  and  die,  Sordello ;  this  is  real, 

And  this  —  abjure ! 

What  next  ?    The  curtains,  see, 
Dividing !     She  is  there ;  and  presently 
He  will  be  there  —  the  proper  You,  at  length  — 
In  your  own  cherished  dress  of  grace  and  strength : 
Most  like,  the  very  Boniface ! 

Not  so. 

It  was  a  showy  man  advanced ;  but  though 
A  glad  cry  welcomed  him,  then  every  sound 
Sank  and  the  crowd  disposed  themselves  around, 
—  "This  is  not  he,"  Sordello  felt;  while,  "  Place 
For  the  best  Troubadour  of  Boniface ! " 
Hollaed  the  Jongleurs,  —  "  Eglamor,  whose  lay 
Concludes  his  patron's  Court  of  Love  to-day ! " 
Obsequious  Naddo  strung  the  master's  lute 
With  the  new  lute-string,  "  Elys,'.'  named  to  suit 
The  song :  he  stealthily  at  watch,  the  while, 
Biting  his  lip  to  keep  down  a  great  smile 
Of  pride :  then  up  he  struck.     Sordello's  brain 
Swam ;  for  he  knew  a  sometime  deed  again ; 
So,  could  supply  each  foolish  gap  and  chasm 
The  minstrel  left  in  his  enthusiasm, 
Mistaking  its  true  version  —  was  the  tale 
Not  cf  Apollo?     Only,  what  avail 
Luring  her  down,  that  Elys  an  he  pleased, 
If  the  man  dared  no  further  ?     Has  he  ceased  ? 


42        BORDELLO,    BEFORE    PALMA,    CONQUERS    HIM, 

And,  lo,  the  people's  frank  applause  half  done, 

Sordello  was  beside  him,  had  begun 

(Spite  of  indignant  twitchings  from  his  friend 

The  Trouve.re)  the  true  lay  with  the  true  end, 

Taking  the  other's  names  and  time  and  place 

For  his.     On  flew  the  song,  a  tjiddy  race, 

After  the  flying  story ;  word  made  leap 

Out  word,  rhyme  —  rhyme  ;  the  lay  could  barely  keep 

Pace  with  the  action  visibly  rushing  past : 

Both  ended.     Back  fell  Naddo  more  aghast 

Than  some  Egyptian  from  the  harassed  bull 

That  wheeled  abrupt  and,  bellowing,  fronted  full 

His  plague,  who  spied  a  scarab  'neath  his  tongue, 

And  found  't  was  Apis'  flank  his  hasty  prong 

Insulted.     But  the  people  —  but  the  cries, 

The  crowding  round,  and  proffering  the  prize ! 

(For  he  had  gained  some  prize)  —  He  seemed  to  shrink 

Into  a  sleepy  cloud,  just  at  whose  brink 

One  sight  withheld  him.     There  sat  Adelaide, 

Silent ;  but  at  her  knees  the  very  maid 

Of  the  North  Chamber,  her  red  lips  as  rich, 

The  same  pure  fleecy  hair  ;  one  weft  of  which, 

Golden  and  great,  quite  touched  his  cheek  as  o'er 

She  leant,  speaking  some  six  words  and  no  more. 

He  answered  something,  anything ;  and  she 

Unbound  a  scarf  and  laid  it  heavily 

Upon  him,  her  neck's  warmth  and  all.     Again 

Moved  the  arrested  magic ;  in  his  brain 

Noises  grew,  and  a  light  that  turned  to  glare, 


RECEIVES   THE   PRIZE,   AND   RUMINATES.  43 

And  greater  glare,  until  the  intense  flare 

Engulfed  him,  shut  the  whole  scene  from  his  sense. 

And  when  he  woke  't  was  many  a  furlong  thence, 

At  home  ;  the  sun  shining  his  ruddy  wont ; 

The  customary  birds'-chirp  ;  but  bis  front 

Was  crowned  —  was  crowned !    Her  scented  scarf  around 

His  neck  !    Whose  gorgeous  vesture  heaps  the  ground  ? 

A  prize  ?     He  turned,  and  peeringly  on  him 

Brooded  the  women-faces,  kind  and  dim, 

Ready  to  talk.  —  "  The  Jongleurs  in  a  troop 

Had  brought  him  back,  Naddo  and  Squarcialupe 

And  Tagliafer ;  how  strange  !  a  childhood  spent 

In  taking,  well  for  him,  so  brave  a  bent ! 

Since  Eglamor,"  they  heard,  "  was  dead  with  spite, 

And  Palma  chose  him  for  her  minstrel." 

Light 

Sordello  rose  —  to  think,  now ;  hitherto 
He  had  perceived.     Sure,  a  discovery  grew 
Out  of  it  all !     Best  live  from  first  to  last 
The  transport  o'er  again.     A  week  he  passed, 
Sucking  the  sweet  out  of  each  circumstance, 
From  the  bard's  outbreak  to  the  luscious  trance 
Bounding  his  own  achievement.     Strange  !     A  man 
Recounted  an  adventure,  but  began 
Imperfectly ;  his  own  task  was  to  fill 
The  framework  up,  sing  well  what  he  sang  ill, 
Supply  the  necessary  points,  set  loose 
As  many  incidents  of  little  use 
•—  More  imbecile  the  other,  not  to  see 


44      HOW   HAD   HE   BEEN    SUPERIOR   TO    EGLAMOB? 

Their  relative  importance  clear  as  he ! 

But,  for  a  special  pleasure  in  the  act 

Of  singing  —  had  he  ever  turned,  in  fact, 

From  Elys,  to  sing  Elys  ?  —  from  each  fit 

Of  rapture,  to  contrive  a  song  of  it  ? 

True,  this  snatch  or  the  other  seemed  to  wind 

Into  a  treasure,  helped  himself  to  find 

A  beauty  in  himself;  for,  see,  he  soared 

By  means  of  that  mere  snatch  to  many  a  hoard 

Of  fancies ;  as  some  falling  cone  bears  soft 

The  eye,  along  the  fir-tree-spire,  aloft 

To  a  dove's  nest.     Then,  how  divine  the  cause 

Such  a  performance  might  exact  applause 

From  men,  if  they  had  fancies  too  ?     Could  fate 

Decree  they  found  a  beauty  separate 

In  the  poor  snatch  itself?  —  "  Take  Elys,  there, 

— '  Her  head  that 's  sharp  and  perfect  like  a  pear, 

So  close  and  smooth  are  laid  the  few  fine  locks 

Colored  like  honey  oozed  from  topmost  rocks 

Sun-blanched  the  livelong  summer '  —  if  they  heard 

Just  those  two  rhymes,  assented  at'  my  word, 

And  loved  them  as  I  love  them  who  have  run 

These  fingers  through  those  pale  locks,  let  the  sun 

Into  the  white  cool  skin  —  who  first  could  clutch, 

Then  praise  —  I  needs  must  be  a  God  to  such. 

Or  if  some  few,  above  themselves,  and  yet 

Beneath  me,  like  their  Eglamor,  have  set 

An  impress  on  our  gift  ?     So,  men  believe 

And  worship  what  they  know  not,  nor  receive 


THIS    IS   ANSWERED    BY    EGLAMOIt    HIMSELF:        46 

Delight  from.    Have  they  fancies  —  slow,  perchance, 
Not  at  their  beck,  which  indistinctly  glance 
Until,  by  song,  each  floating  part  be  linked 
To  each,  and  all  grow  palpable,  distinct  ?  " 
He  pondered  this. 

Meanwhile,  sounds  low  and  drear 
8tole  on  him,  and  a  noise  of  footsteps,  near 
And  nearer,  and  the  underwood  was  pushed 
Aside,  the  larches  grazed,  the  dead  leaves  crushed 
At  the  approach  of  men.     The  wind  seemed  laid ; 
Only,  the  trees  shrunk  slightly  and  a  shade 
Came  o'er  the  sky  although  't  was  midday  yet : 
You  saw  each  half-shut  downcast  floweret 
Flutter  —  "a  Roman  bride,  when  they 'd  dispart 
Her  unbound  tresses  with  the  Sabine  dart, 
Holding  that  famous  rape  in  memory  still, 
.Felt  creep  into  her  curls  the  iron  chill, 
And  looked  thus,"  Eglamor  would  say  —  indeed 
T  is  Eglamor,  no  other,  these  precede 
Home  hither  in  the  woods.    "  'T  were  surely  sweet 
Far  from  the  scene  of  one's  forlorn  defeat 
To  sleep  ! "  judged  Naddo,  who  in  person  led 
Jongleurs  and  Trouveres,  chanting  at  their  head, 
A  scanty  company  ;  for,  sooth  to  say, 
Our  beaten  Troubadour  had  seen  his  day. 
Old  worshippers  were  something  shamed,  old  friends 
Nigh  weary ;  still  the  death  proposed  amends. 
K  Let  us  but  get  them  safely  through  my  song 
And  home  again  !  **  quoth  Naddo. 


46       ONE    WHO    BELONGED    TO    WHAT    HE    LOVED, 

All  along, 

This  man  (they  rest  the  bier  upon  the  sand) 
—  This  calm  corpse  with  the  loose  flowers  in  his  hand, 
Eglamor,  lived  Sordello's  opposite. 
For  him  indeed  was  Naddo's  notion  right, 
And  verse  a  temple-worship  vague  and  vast, 
A  ceremony  that  withdrew  the  last 
Opposing  bolt,  looped  back  the  lingering  veil 
Which  hid  the  holy  place  —  should  one  so  frail 
Stand  there  without  such  effort  ?  or  repine 
That  much  was  blank,  uncertain  at  the  shrine 
He  knelt  before,  till,  soothed  by  many  a  rite, 
The  Power  responded,  and  some  sound  or  sight 
Grew  up,  his  own  forever,  to  be  fixed 
In  rhyme,  the  beautiful,  forever  !  mixed 
With  his  own  life,  unloosed  when  he  should  please, 
Having  it  safe  at  hand,  ready  to  ease 
All  pain,  remove  all  trouble ;  every  time 
He  loosed  that  fancy  from  its  bonds  of  rhyme. 
Like  Perseus  when  he  loosed  his  naked  love, 
Faltering ;  so  distinct  and  far  above 
Himself,  these  fancies !     He,  no  genius  rare, 
Transfiguring  in  fire  or  wave  or  air 
At  will,  but  a  poor  gnome  that,  cloistered  up 
In  some  rock-chamber  with  his  agate  cup, 
His  topaz  rod,  his  seed-pearl,  in  these  few 
And  their  arrangement  finds  enough  to  do 
For  his  best  art.     Then,  how  he  loved  that  art ! 
The  calling  marking  him  a  man  apart 


LOTING    HIS    ART    AND    REWA11DKU    BY    IT,  47 

From  men  —  one  not  to  care,  take  counsel  for 

Cold  hearts,  comfortless  faces  —  (Eglamor 

Was  neediest  of  his  tribe)  —  since  verse,  the  gift, 

Was  his,  and  men,  the  whole  of  them,  must  shift 

Without  it,  e'en  content  themselves  with  wealth 

And  pomp  and  power,  snatching  a  life  hy  stealth. 

So,  Eglamor  was  not  without  his  pride  ! 

The  sorriest  bat  which  cowers  through  noontide 

While  other  birds  are  jocund,  has  one  tune 

When  moon  and  stars  are  blinded,  and  the  prime 

Of  earth  is  his  to  claim,  nor  find  a  peer ; 

And  Eglamor  was  noblest  poet  here 

He  knew  that,  'mid  the  April  woods,  he  cast 

Conceits  upon  in  plenty  as  he  past, 

That  Naddo  might  suppose  him  not  to  think 

Entirely  on  the  coming  triumph :  wink 

At  the  one  weakness  !     'T  was  a  fervid  child, 

That  song  of  his  —  no  brother  of  the  guild 

Had  e'er  conceived  its  like.     The  rest  you  know. 

The  exaltation  and  the  overthrow  : 

Our  poet  lost  his  purpose,  lost  his  rank, 

His  life  —  to  that  it  came.     Yet  envy  sank 

Within  him,  as  he  heard  Sordello  out, 

And,  for  the  first  time,  shouted  —  tried  to  shout 

Like  others,  not  from  any  zeal  to  show 

Pleasure  that  way :  the  common  sort  did  so, 

And  what  was  Eglamor  ?  who,  bending  down 

The  same,  placed  his  beneath  Sordello's  crown. 

Printed  a  kiss  on  his  successor's  hand. 


48         ENDING    WITH    WHAT    HAD    POSSESSED    HIM. 

Left  one  great  tear  on  it,  then  joined  his  band 

• —  In  time ;  for  some  were  watching  at  the  door 

Who  knows  what  envy  may  effect  ?    "  Give  o'er, 

Nor  charm  his  lips,  nor  craze  him ! "  (here  one  spied 

And  disengaged  the  withered  crown)  —  "  Beside 

His  crown !     How  prompt  and  clear  those  verses  rung 

To  answer  yours !  nay,  sing  them  ! "     And  he  sung 

Them  calmly.     Home  he  went ;  friends  used  to  wait 

His  coming,  zealous  to  congratulate, 

But,  to  a  man,  so  quickly  runs  report. 

Could  do  no  less  than  leave  him,  and  escort 

His  rival.     That  eve,  then,  bred  many  a  thought : 

What  must  his  future  life  be  ?  was  he  brought 

So  low,  who  was  so  lofty  this  Spring  morn  ? 

At  length  he  said,  "  Best  sleep  now  with  my  scorn, 

And  by  to-morrow  I  devise  some  plain 

Expedient ! "     So,  he  slept,  nor  woke  again. 

They  found  as  much,  those  friends,  when  they  returned 

O'erflowing  with  the  marvels  they  had  learned 

About  Sordello's  paradise,  his  roves 

Among  the  hills  and  valleys,  plains  and  groves, 

Wherein,  no  doubt,  this  lay  was  roughly  cast, 

Polished  by  slow  degrees,  completed  last 

To  Eglamor's  discomfiture  and  death. 

Such  form  the  chanters  now,  and,  out  of  breath, 
They  lay  the  beaten  man  in  his  abode, 
Naddo  reciting  that  same  luckless  ode, 
Doleful  to  hear.     Sordello  could  explore 
By  means  of  it,  however,  one  step  more 


EGLAMOB    DONE    WITH,    BORDELLO    BEGINS.         49 

Iii  joy ;  and,  mastering  the  round  at  length, 
Learnt  how  to  live  in  weakness  as  in  strength, 
When  from  his  covert  forth  he  stood,  addressed 
Eglamor,  bade  the  tender  ferns  invest, 
Primaeval  pines  o'ercanopy  his  couch, 
And,  most  of  all,  his  fame  —  (shall  I  avouch 
Eglamor  heard  it,  dead  though  he  might  look, 
And  laughed  as  from  his  brow  Sordello  took 
The  crown,  and  laid  it  on  his  breast,  and  said 
It  was  a  crown,  now,  fit  for  poet's  head  ?) 

—  Continue.     Nor  the  prayer  quite  fruitless  felL 
A  plant  they  have  yielding  a  three-leaved  bell 
Which  whitens  at  the  heart  ere  noon,  and  ails 
Till  evening ;  evening  gives  it  to  her  gales 

To  clear  away  with  such  forgotten  things 
As  are  an  eyesore  to  the  morn :  this  brings 
Him  to  their  mind,  and  bears  his  very  name. 

So  much  for  Eglamor.     My  own  month  came; 
'T  was  a  sunrise  of  blossoming  and  May. 
Beneath  a  flowering  laurel  thicket  lay 
Sordello ;  each  new  sprinkle  of  white  stars 
That  smell  fainter  of  wine  than  Massic  jars 
Dug  up  at  Baiae,  when  the  south  wind  shed 
The  ripest,  made  him  happier ;  filleted 
And  robed  the  same,  only  a  lute  beside 
Lay  on  the  turf.     Before  liim  far  and  wide 
The  country  stretched :  Goito  slept  behind 

—  The  castle  and  its  covert,  which  confined 
Him  with  his  hopes  and  fears  ;  so  fain  of  old 

3  D 


50      WHO    HE   REALLY    WA8,   AND    WHY   AT    GO1TO. 

To  leave  the  story  of  his  birth  untold. 

At  intervals,  'spite  the  fantastic  glow 

Of  his  Apollo-life,  a  certain  low 

And  wretched  whisper,  winding  through  the  bliss, 

Admonished,  no  such  fortune  could  be  his, 

All  was  quite  false  and  sure  to  fade  one  day : 

The  closelier  drew  he  round  him  his  array 

Of  brilliance  to  expel  the  truth.     But  when 

A  reason  for  his  difference  from  men 

Surprised  him  at  the  grave,  he  took  no  rest 

While  aught  of  that  old  life,  superbly  drest 

Down  to  its  meanest  incident,  remained 

A  mystery  —  alas,  they  soon  explained 

Away  Apollo !  and  the  tale  amounts 

To  this  :  when  at  Vicenza  both  her  Counts 

Banished  the  Vivaresi  kith  and  kin, 

Those  Maltraversi  hung  on  Ecelin, 

Reviled  him  as  he  followed ;  he  for  spite 

Must  fire  their  quarter,  though  that  self-same  night 

Among  the  flames  young  Ecelin  was  born 

Of  Adelaide,  there  too,  and  barely  torn 

From  the  roused  populace  hard  on  the  rear, 

By  a  poor  archer  when  his  chieftain's  fear 

Grew  high ;  into  the  thick  Elcorte  leapt, 

Saved  her,  and  died ;  no  creature  left  except 

His  child  to  thank.     And  when  the  full  escape 

Was  known  —  how  men  impaled  from  chine  to  nape 

Unlucky  Prata,  all  to  pieces  spurned 

Bishop  Pistnre's  concubines,  and  burned 


HE,    SO    LliVLE,   WOULD   FAIN   BE    SO    MUCH  :       51 

Taurello's  entire  household,  flesh  and  fell, 
Missing  the  sweeter  prey  —  such  courage  well 
Might  claim  reward.     The  orphan,  ever  since, 
Sordello,  had  been  nurtured  by  his  prince 
Within  a  blind  retreat  where  Adelaide  — 
(For,  once  this  notable  discovery  made, 
The  Past  at  every  point  was  understood) 

—  Might  harbor  easily  when  times  were  rude, 
When  Azzo  schemed  for  Palma,  to  retrieve 
That  pledge  of  Agnes  Este  —  loath  to  leave 
Mantua  unguarded  with  a  vigilant  eye, 
Taurello  biding  there  ambiguously  — 

He  who  could  have  no  motive  now  to  moil 
For  his  own  fortunes  since  their  utter  spoil  — 
As  it  were  worth  while  yet  (went  the  report) 
To  disengage  himself  from  her.     In  short, 
Apollo  vanished ;  a  mean  youth,  just  named 
His  lady's  minstrel,  was  to  be  proclaimed 

—  How  shall  I  phrase  it  ?  —  Monarch  of  the  World  I 
For,  on  the  morning  that  array  was  furled 
Forever,  and  in  place  of  one  a  slave 

To  longings,  wild  indeed,  but  longings  save 

In  dreams  as  wild,  suppressed  —  one  daring  not 

Assume  the  mastery  such  dreams  allot, 

Until  a  magical  equipment,  strength 

Grace,  wisdom,  decked  him  too,  —  he  chose  at  length, 

Content  with  unproved  wits  and  failing  frame, 

In  virtue  of  his  simple  will,  to  claim 

That  mastery,  no  less  — to  do  his  best 


52   LEAVES  THE  DREAM  HE  MAT  BE  SOMETHING, 

With  means  so  limited,  and  let  the  rest 

Go  by,  —  the  seal  was  set :  never  again 

Sordello  could  in  his  own  sight  remain 

One  of  the  many,  one  with  hopes  and  cares 

And  interests  nowise  distinct  from  theirs, 

Only  peculiar  in  a  thriveless  store 

Of  fancies,  which  were  fancies  and  no  more ; 

Never  again  for  him  and  for  the  crowd 

A  common  law  was  challenged  and  allowed 

If  calmly  reasoned  of,  howe'er  denied 

By  a  mad  impulse- nothing  justified 

Short  of  Apollo's  presence.     The  divorce 

Is  clear :  why  needs  Sordello  square  his  course 

By  any  known  example  ?     Men  no  more 

Compete  with  him  than  tree  and  flower  before ; 

Himself,  inactive,  yet  is  greater  far 

Thau  such  as  act,  each  stooping  to  his  star, 

Acquiring  thence  his  function ;  he  has  gained 

The  same  result  with  meaner  mortals  trained 

To  strength  or  beauty,  moulded  to  express 

Each  the  idea  that  rules  him ;  since  no  less 

He  comprehends  that  function,  but  can  still 

Embrace  the  others,  take  of  might  his  fill 

With  Richard  as  of  grace  with  Palma,  mix 

Their  qualities,  or  for  a  moment  fix 

On  one  ;  abiding  free  meantime,  uncramped 

By  any  partial  organ,  never  stamped 

Strong,  and  to  strength  turning  all  energies  — • 

Wise,  and  restricted  to  becoming  wise  — 


FOE  THE  FACT  THAT  HE  CAN  DO  NOTHING,   58 

That  is,  he  loves  not,  nor  possesses  One 

Idea  that,  star-like  over,  lures  him  on 

To  its  exclusive  purpose.     "  Fortunate ! 

This  flesh  of  mine  ne'er  strove  to  emulate 

A  soul  so  various  —  took  no  casual  mould 

Of  the  first  fancy  and,  contracted,  cold, 

Lay  clogged  forever  thence,  averse  to  change 

As  that :  whereas  it  left  her  free  to  range, 

Remains  itself  a  blank,  cast  into  shade, 

Encumbers  little,  if  it  cannot  aid. 

So,  range,  my  soul !  —  who,  by  self-consciousness, 

The  last  drop  of  all  beauty  dost  express  — 

The  grace  of  seeing  grace,  a  quintessence 

For  thee :  but  for  the  world,  that  can  dispense 

Wonder  on  men  who,  themselves,  wonder — make 

A  shift  to  love  at  second-hand,  and  take 

Those  for  its  idols  who  but  idolize, 

Themseh  es,  —  world  that  loves  souls  as  strong  or  wise, 

Who,  themselves,  love  strength,  wisdom,  —  it  shall  bow 

Surely  in  unexampled  worship  now, 

Discerning  me ! "  — 

(Dear  monarch,  I  beseech, 
Notice  how  lamentably  wide  a  breach 
Is  here  !  discovering  this,  discover  too 
What  our  poor  world  has  possibly  to  do 
With  it !     As  pygmy  natures  as  you  please  — 
So  much  the  better  for  you ;  take  your  ease  ; 
Look  on,  and  laugh  ;  style  yourself  God  alone ; 
Strangle  some  day  with  a  cross  olive-stone : 


54  YET    IS    ABLE    TO    IMAGINE    EVERYTHING, 

All  that  is  right  enough :  but  why  want  us 

To  know  that  you  yourself  know  thus  and  thus  ?) 

u  The  world  shall  bow  to  me  conceiving  all 

Man's  life,  who  sees  its  blisses,  great  and  small, 

Afar  —  not  tasting  any  ;  no  machine 

To  exercise  my  utmost  will  is  mine  : 

Be  mine  mere  consciousness  !     Let  them  perceive 

What  I  could  do,  a  mastery  believe, 

Asserted  and  established  to  the  throng 

By  their  selected  evidence  of  song 

Which  now  shall  prove,  whate'er  they  are,  or  seek 

To  be,  I  am  —  who  take  no  pains  to  speak, 

Change  no  old  standards  of  perfection,  vex 

With  no  strange  forms  created  to  perplex, 

But  will  perform  their  bidding  and  no  more, 

At  their  own  satiating-point  give  o'er, 

While  each  shall  love  in  me  the  love  that  leads 

His  soul  to  its  perfection."     Song,  not  deeds, 

(For  we  get  tired)  was  chosen.     Fate  would  brook 

Mankind  no  other  organ ;  he  would  look 

For  not  another  channel  to  dispense 

His  own  volition,  and  receive  their  sense 

Of  its  existing  ;  but  would  be  content, 

Obstructed  else,  with  merely  verse  for  vent 

Nor  should,  for  instance,  strength  an  outlet  seek 

And,  striving,  be  admired,  nor  grace  bespeak 

Wonder,  displayed  in  gracious  attitudes  ; 

Nor  wisdom,  poured  forth,  change  unseemly  moods : 

But  he  would  give  and  take  on  song's  one  point. 


IF   THE    WORLD    ESTEEM   THIS    EQUIVALENT.        55 

Like  some  huge  throbbing-stone  that,  poised  a-joint 

Sounds,  to  affect  on  its  basaltic  bed, 

Must  sue  in  just  one  accent ;  tempests  shed 

Thunder,  and  raves  the  landstonn :  only  let 

That  key  by  any  little  noise  be  set  — 

The  far  benighted  hunter's  halloo  pitch 

On  that,  the  hungry  curlew  chance  to  scritch 

Or  serpent  hiss  it,  rustling  through  the  rift, 

However  loud,  however  low  —  all  lift 

The  groaning  monster,  stricken  to  the  heart. 

Lo  ye,  the  world's  concernment,  for  its  part, 
And  this,  for  his,  will  hardly  interfere  ! 
Its  businesses  in  blood  and  blaze  this  year 
But  wile  the  hour  away  —  a  pastime  slight 
Till  he  shall  step  upon  the  platform :  right ! 
And,  now  thus  much  is  settled,  cast  in  rough, 
Proved  feasible,  be  counselled  !  thought  enough,  — — 
Slumber,  Sordello  !  any  day  will  serve  : 
Were  it  a  less  digested  plan  !  how  swerve 
To-morrow  ?     Meanwhile  eat  these  sun-dried  grapes^ 
And  watch  the  soaring  hawk  there  !     Life  escapes 
Merrily  thus. 

He  thoroughly  read  o'er 
His  truchman  Naddo's  missive  six  times  more, 
Praying  him  visit  Mantua  and  supply 
A  famished  world. 

The  evening  star  was  high 
When  he  reached  Mantua,  but  his  fame  arrived 
Before  him  :  friends  applauded,  foes  connived, 


56    HE  HAS  LOVED  HIS  SONG'S  RESULTS,  NOT  SONO 

And  Naddo  looked  an  angel,  and  the  rest 
Angels,  and  all  these  angels  would  be  blest 
Supremely  by  a  song  —  the  thrice-renowned 
Goito  manufacture.     Then  he  found 
(Casting  about  to  satisfy  the  crowd) 
That  happy  vehicle,  so  late  allowed, 
A  sore  annoyance :  't  was  the  song's  effect 
He  cared  for,  scarce  the  song  itself:  reflect ! 
In  the  past  life,  what  might  be  singing's  use  ? 
Just  to  delight  his  Delians,  whose  profuse 
Praise,  not  the  toilsome  process  which  procured 
That  praise,  enticed  Apollo :  dreams  abjured, 
No  over-leaping  means  for  ends  —  take  both 
For  granted  or  take  neither !     I  am  loath 
To  say  the  rhymes  at  last  were  Eglamor's ; 
But  Naddo,  chuckling,  bade  competitors 
Go  pine ;  "  the  master  certes  meant  to  waste 
No  effort,  cautiously  had  probed  the  taste 
He  'd  please  anon :  true  bard,  in  short,  disturb 
His  title  if  they  could  ;  nor  spur  nor  curb, 
Fancy  nor  reason,  wanting  in  him ;  whence 
The  staple  of  his  verses,  common  sense : 
He  built  on  man's  broad  nature  —  gift  of  gifts, 
That  power  to  build  !     The  world  contented  shifts 
With  counterfeits  enough,  a  dreary  sort 
Of  warriors,  statesmen,  ere  it  can  extort 
[ts  poet-soul  —  that 's,  after  all,  a  freak 
(The  having  eyes  to  see  and  tongue  to  speak) 
With  our  herd's  stupid  sterling  happiness 


SO,   MUST    EFFECT   THIS   TO    OBTAIN   THOSE.         57 

So  plainly  incompatible  that  —  yes  — 
Yes  —  should  a  son  of  his  improve  the  breed 
And  turn  out  poet,  he  were  cursed  indeed ! " 
"  Well,  there 's  Goito  and  its  woods  anon, 
If  the  worst  happen ;  best  go  stoutly  on 
Now ! "  thought  Sordello. 

Ay,  and  goes  on  yet  1 
You  pother  with  your  glossaries  to  get 
A  notion  of  the  Troubadour's  intent 
In  rondel,  tenzon,  virlai  or  sirvent  — 
Much  as  you  study  arras  how  to  twirl 
His  angelot,  plaything  of  page  and  girl, 
Once ;  but  you  surely  reach,  at  last,  —  or,  no  1 
Never  quite  reach  what  struck  the  people  so, 
As  from  the  welter  of  their  time  he  drew 
Its  elements  successively  to  view, 
Followed  all  actions  backward  on  their  course, 
And  catching  up,  unmingled  at  the  source, 
Such  a  strength,  such  a  weakness,  added  then 
A  touch  or  two,  and  turned  them  into  men. 
Virtue  took  form,  nor  vice  refused  a  shape ; 
Here  heaven  opened,  there  was  hell  agape, 
As  Saint  this  simpered  past  in  sanctity, 
Sinner  the  other  flared  portentous  by 
A  greedy  people.     Then  why  stop,  surprised 
At  his  success  ?     The  scheme  was  realized 
Too  suddenly  in  one  respect :  a  crowd 
Praising,  eyes  quick  to  see,  and  lips  as  loud 
To  speak,  delicious  homage  to  receive, 

3*  o 


58        HE    SUCCEEDS    A   LITTLE,   BUT   FAILS   MORE  ; 

The  woman's  breath  to  feel  upon  his  sleeve, 

Who  said,  "  But  Anafest  —  why  asks  he  less 

Than  Lucio,  in  your  verses  ?  how  confess, 

It  seemed  too  much  but  yestereve  ! "  —  the  youth, 

Who  bade  him  earnestly,  "  Avow  the  truth ! 

You  love  Bianca,  surely,  from  your  song ; 

[  knew  I  was  unworthy  ! "  —  soft  or  strong, 

In  poured  such  tributes  ere  he  had  arranged 

Ethereal  ways  to  take  them,  sorted,  changed, 

Digested.     Courted  thus  at  unawares, 

In  spite  of  his  pretensions  and  his  cares, 

He  caught  himself  shamefully  hankering 

After  the  obvious  petty  joys  that  spring 

From  real  life,  fain  relinquish  pedestal 

And  condescend  with  pleasures  —  one  and  all 

To  be  renounced,  no  doubt ;  for,  thus  to  chain 

Himself  to  single  joys  and  so  refrain 

From  tasting  their  quintessence,  frustrated,  sure, 

His  prime  design ;  each  joy  must  he  abjure 

Even  for  love  of  it. 

He  laughed  :  what  sage 
But  perishes  if  from  his  magic  page 
He  looked  because,  at  the  first  line,  a  proof 
'T  was  heard  salutes  him  from  the  cavern-roof? 
'•'  On  !  Give  yourself,  excluding  aught  beside, 
To  the  day's  task ;  compel  your  slave  provide 
Its  utmost  at  the  soonest ;  turn  the  leaf 
Thoroughly  conned.     These  lays  of  yours,  in  brief — 
Cannot  men  bear,  now,  something  better  ?  —  fly 


TRIES    AGAIN,    IS    NO    BETTER    SATISFIED,  59 

A  pitch  beyond  this  unreal  pageantry 
Of  essences  ?  the  period  sure  has  ceased 
For  such :  present  us  with  ourselves,  at  least, 
Not  portions  of  ourselves,  mere  loves  and  hates 
Made  flesh  :  wait  not !  " 

Awhile  the  poet  waits 
However.     The  first  trial  was  enough  : 
He  left  imagining,  to  try  the  stuff 
That  held  the  imaged  thing,  and,  let  it  writhe 
Never  so  fiercely,  scarce  allowed  a  tithe 
To  reach  the  light  —  his  Language.     How  he  sought 
The  cause,  conceived  a  cure,  and  slow  re-wrought 
That  Language,  —  welding  words  into  the  crude 
Mass  from  the  new  speech  round  him,  till  a  rude 
Armor  was  hammered  out,  in  time  to  be 
Approved  beyond  the  Roman  panoply 
Melted  to  make  it,  —  boots  not.     This  obtained 
With  some  ado,  no  obstacle  remained 
To  using  it ;  accordingly  he  took 
An  action  with  its  actors,  quite  forsook 
Himself  to  live  in  each,  returned  anon 
With  the  result  —  a  creature,  and,  by  one 
And  one,  proceeded  leisurely  to  equip 
Its  limbs  in  harness  of  his  workmanship. 
"  Accomplished  !     Listen,  Mantuans  !  "     Fond  essay  I 
Piece  after  piece  that  armor  broke  away, 
Because  perceptions  whole,  like  that  he  sought 
To  clothe,  reject  so  pure  a  work  of  thought 
As  language  :  thought  may  take  perception's  place 


60    AND  DECLINES  FROM  THE  IDEAL  OF  SONG 

But  hardly  coexist  in  any  case, 

Being  its  mere  presentment  —  of  the  whole 

By  parts,  the  simultaneous  and  the  sole 

By  the  successive  and  the  many.     Lacks 

The  crowd  perception  ?  painfully  it  tacks 

Thought  to  thought,  which  Sordello,  needing  such, 

Has  rent  perception  into  :  it 's  to  clutch 

And  reconstruct  —  his  office  to  diffuse, 

Destroy  :  as  hard,  then,  to  obtain  a  Muse 

As  to  become  Apollo.     "  For  the  rest, 

E'en  if  some  wondrous  vehicle  exprest 

The  whole  dream,  what  impertinence  in  me 

So  to  express  it,  who  myself  can  be 

The  dream !  nor,  on  the  other  hand,  are  those 

I  sing  to,  over-likely  to  suppose 

A  higher  than  the  highest  I  present 

Now,  which  they  praise  already  :  be  content 

Both  parties,  rather  —  they  with  the  old  verse, 

And  I  with  the  old  praise  —  far  go,  fare  worse  ! " 

A  few  adhering  rivets  loosed,  upsprings 

The  angel,  sparkles  off  his  mail,  and  rings 

Whirled  from  each  delicatest  limb  it  warps, 

As  might  Apollo  from  the  sudden  corpse 

Of  Hyacinth  have  cast  his  luckless  quoits. 

He  set  to  celebrating  the  exploits 

Of  Montfort  o'er  the  Mountaineers. 

Then  came 

The  world's  revenge  :  their  pleasure,  now  his  aim 
Merely,  —  what  was  it  ?    "  Not  to  play  the  fool 


WHAT  IS  THE  WORLD'S  RECOGNITION  WORTH  ?      6 

So  much  as  learn  our  lesson  in  your  school ! " 

Replied  the  world.     He  found  that,  every  time 

He  gained  applause  by  any  ballad-rhyme, 

His  auditory  recognized  no  jot 

As  he  intended,  and,  mistaking  not 

Him  for  his  meanest  hero,  ne'er  was  dunce 

Sufficient  to  believe  him  —  all,  at  once. 

His  will  .  .  .  conceive  it  caring  for  his  will  I 

—  Mantuans,  the  main  of  them,  admiring  still 

How  a  mere  singer,  ugly,  stunted,  weak, 

Had  Montfort  at  completely  (so  to  speak) 

His  fingers'  ends ;  while  past  the  praise-tide  swept 

To  Montfort,  cither's  share  distinctly  kept : 

The  true  meed  for  true  merit !  —  his  abates 

Into  a  sort  he  most  repudiates, 

And  on  them  angrily  he  turns.     Who  were 

The  Mantuans,  after  all,  that  he  should  care 

About  their  recognition,  ay  or  no  ? 

In  spite  of  the  convention  months  ago, 

(Why  blink  the  truth  ?)  was  not  he  forced  to  help 

This  same  ungrateful  audience,  every  whelp 

Of  Naddo's  litter,  make  them  pass  for  peers 

With  the  bright  band  of  old  Goito  years, 

As  erst  he  toiled  for  flower  or  tree  ?     Why,  there 

Sat  Palma !     Adelaide's  funereal  hair 

Ennobled  the  next  corner.     Ay,  he  strewed 

A  fairy  dust  upon  that  multitude, 

Although  he  feigned  to  take  them  by  themselves ; 

His  giants  dignified  those  puny  elves, 


62        HOW,  POET  NO  LONGER  IN  UNITT  WITH  MAN, 

Sublimed  their  faint  applause.     In  short,  he  found 

Himself  still  footing  a  delusive  round, 

Remote  as  ever  from  the  self-display 

He  meant  to  compass,  hampered  every  way 

By  what  he  hoped  assistance.     Wherefore  then 

Continue,  make  believe  to  find  in  men 

A  use  he  found  not? 

Weeks,  months,  years  went  by ; 
And,  lo,  Sordello  vanished  utterly, 
Sundered  in  twain ;  each  spectral  part  at  strife 
With  each ;  one  jarred  against  another  life  ; 
The  Poet  thwarting  hopelessly  the  Man 
Who,  fooled  no  longer,  free  in  fancy  ran 
Here,  there ;  let  slip  no  opportunities 
As  pitiful,  forsooth,  beside  the  prize 
To  drop  on  him  some  no-time  and  acquit 
His  constant  faith  (the  Poet-half  s  to  wit  — 
That  waiving  any  compromise  between 
No  joy  and  all  joy  kept  the  hunger  keen 
Beyond  most  methods)  —  of  incurring  scoff 
From  the  Man-portion  not  to  be  put  off 
With  self-reflectings  by  the  Poet's  scheme, 
Though  ne'er  so  bright ;  that  sauntered  forth  in  dream, 
Drest  any  how,  nor  waited  mystic  frames, 
Immeasurable  gifts,  astounding  claims, 
But  just  his  sorry  self —  who  yet  might  be 
Sorrier  for  aught  he  in  reality 
Achieved,  so  pinioned  That  the  Poet-part, 
Fondling,  in  turn  of  fancy,  verse  ;  the  Art 


THE  WHOLE  VISIBLE  SORDELLO  GOES  WBONQ       63 

Developing  his  soul  a  thousand  ways  — 

Potent,  by  its  assistance,  to  amaze 

The  multitude  with  majesties,  convince 

Each  sort  of  nature,  that  same  nature's  prince 

Accosted  it.     Language,  the  makeshift,  grew 

Into  a  bravest  of  expedients,  too ; 

Apollo,  seemed  it  now,  perverse  had  thrown 

Quiver  and  bow  away,  the  lyre  alone 

Sufficed.     While,  out  of  dream,  his  day's  work  went 

To  tune  a  crazy  tenzon  or  sirvent  — 

So  hampered  him  the  Man-part,  thrust  to  judge 

Between  the  bard  and  the  bard's  audience,  grudge 

A  minute's  toil  that  missed  its  due  reward ! 

But  the  complete  Sordello,  Man  and  Bard, 

John's  cloud-girt  angel,  this  foot  on  the  land, 

That  on  the  sea,  with  open  in  his  hand 

A  bitter-sweetling  of  a  book  —  was  gone. 

And  if  internal  struggles  to  be  one 
That  frittered  him  incessantly  piecemeal, 
Referred,  ne'er  so  obliquely,  to  the  real 
Mautuans !  intruding  ever  with  some  call 
To  action  while  he  pondered,  once  for  all, 
Which  looked  the  easier  effort  —  to  pursue 
This  course,  still  leap  o'er  paltry  joys,  yearn  through 
The  present  ill-appreciated  stage 
Of  self-revealment,  and  compel  the  age 
Know  him ;  or  else,  forswearing  bard-craft,  wake 
From  out  his  lethargy  and  nobly  shake 
Off  timid  habits  of  denial,  mix 


64   WITH  THOSE  TOO  HARD  FOR  HALF  OF  HIM, 

With  men,  enjoy  like  men.     Ere  he  could  fix 

On  aught,  in  rushed  the  Mantuans  ;  much  they  cared 

For  his  perplexity !     Thus  unprepared, 

The  obvious  if  not  only  shelter  lay 

In  deeds,  the  dull  conventions  of  his  day 

Prescribed  the  like  of  him  :  why  not  be  glad 

'T  is  settled  Palma's  minstrel,  good  or  bad, 

Submits  to  this  and  that  established  rule  ? 

Let  Vidal  change,  or  any  other  fool, 

His  murrey-colored  robe  for  philamot, 

And  crop  his  hair ;  too  skin-deep,  is  it  not, 

Such  vigor  ?     Then,  a  sorrow  to  the  heart, 

His  talk  !     Whatever  topics  they  might  start, 

Had  to  be  groped  for  in  his  consciousness 

Straight,  and  as  straight  delivered  them  by  guess. 

Only  obliged  to  ask  himself,  "  What  was," 

A  speedy  answer  followed ;  but,  alas, 

One  of  God's  large  ones,  tardy  to  condense 

Itself  into  a  period ;  answers  whence 

A  tangle  of  conclusions  must  be  stripped 

At  any  risk  ere,  trim  to  pattern  clipped, 

They  matched  rare  specimens  the  Mantuan  flock 

Regaled  him  with,  each  talker  from  his  stock 

Of  sorted-o'er  opinions,  every  stage, 

Juicy  in  youth  or  desiccate  with  age, 

Fruits  like  the  fig-tree's,  rathe-ripe,  rotten-rich, 

Sweet-sour,  all  tastes  to  take  :  a  practice  which 

He  too  had  not  impossibly  attained, 

Once  either  of  those  fancy-flights  restrained ; 


OF    WHOM    HE   IS   ALSO   TOO    CONTEMPTUOUS.        00 

For,  at  conjecture  how  might  words  appear 

To  others,  playing  there  what  happened  here, 

And  occupied  abroad  by  what  he  spurned 

At  home,  't  was  slipt,  the  occasion  he  returned 

To  seize  :  he  'd  strike  that  lyre  adroitly  —  speech, 

Would  but  a  twenty-cubit  plectre  reach ; 

A  clever  hand,  consummate  instrument, 

Were  both  brought  close  ;  each  excellency  went 

For  nothing  else.     The  question  Naddo  asked, 

Had  just  a  lifetime  moderately  tasked 

To  answer,  Naddo's  fashion.     More  disgust 

And  more  !  why  move  his  soul,  since  move  it  must 

At  a  minute's  notice  or  as  good  it  failed 

To  move  at  all  ?     The  end  was,  he  retailed 

Some  ready-made  opinion,  put  to  use 

This  quip,  that  maxim,  ventured  reproduce 

Gestures  and  tones  —  at  any  folly  caught 

Serving  to  finish  with,  nor  too  much  sought 

If  false  or  true  't  was  spoken ;  praise  and  blame 

Of  what  he  said  grew  pretty  well  the  same 

—  Meantime  awards  to  meantime  acts :  his  soul, 

Unequal  to  the  compassing  a  whole, 

Saw,  in  a  tenth  part,  less  and  less  to  strive 

About.     And  as  for  men  in  turn  . .  .  contrive 

Who  could  to  take  eternal  interest 

In  them,  so  hate  the  worst,  so  love  the  best ! 

Though,  in  pursuance  of  his  passive  plan, 

He  hailed,  decried  the  proper  way. 

As  Man 


66        HE    PLEASES    NETHER    HIMSELF    NOR    THEM. 

So  figured  he ;  and  how  as  Poet  ?     Verse 

Came  only  not  to  a  stand-still.     The  worse, 

That  his  poor  piece  of  daily  work  to  do 

Was,  not  sink  under  any  rivals ;  who 

Loudly  and  loud  enough,  without  these  qualms, 

Tuned,  from  Bocafoli's  stark-naked  psalms, 

To  Plara's  sonnets  spoilt  by  toying  with, 

"  As  knops  that  stud  some  almug  to  the  pith 

Pricked  for  gum,  wry  thence,  and  crinkled  worse 

Than  pursed  eyelids  of  a  river-horse 

Sunning    himself    o'    the    slime    when    whirrs    the 

breeze  "  — 

Gad-fly,  that  is.     He  might  compete  with  these  ' 
But  —  but  — 

"  Observe  a  pompion-twine  afloat ; 
Pluck  me  one  cup  from  off  the  castle-moat ! 
Along  with  cup  you  raise  leaf,  stalk  and  root, 
The  entire  surface  of  the  pool  to  boot 
So  could  I  pluck  a  cup,  put  in  one  song 
A  single  sight,  did  not  ray  hand,  too  strong, 
Twitch  in  the  least  the  root-strings  of  the  whole. 
How  should  externals  satisfy  my  soul  ?  " 
"  Why  that 's  precise  the  error  Squarcialupe  " 
(Hazarded  Naddo)  "  finds ;  '  the  man  can't  stoop 
To  sing  us  out,'  quoth  he,  <  a  mere  romance ; 
He  'd  fain  do  better  than  the  best,  enhance 
The  subjects'  rarity,  work  problems  out 
Therewith ' :  now,  you  're  a  bard,  a  bard  past  doubt, 
And  no  philosopher  ;  why  introduce 


WHICH   THE   BEST  JUDGES   ACCOUNT   FOB.          67 

Crotchets  like  these  ?  fine,  surely,  but  no  use 

In  poetry  —  which  still  must  be,  to  strike, 

Based  upon  common  sense ;  there 's  nothing  like 

Appealing  to  our  nature !  what  beside 

Was  your  first  poetry  ?     No  tricks  were  tried 

In  that,  no  hollow  thrills,  affected  throes  ! 

'  The  man,'  said  we, '  tells  his  own  joys  and  woes  — 

We '11  trust  him.'     Would  you  have  your  songs  endure? 

Build  on  the  human  heart !  —  Why,  to  be  sure 

Yours  is  one  sort  of  heart  —  but  I  mean  theirs, 

Ours,  every  one's,  the  healthy  heart  one  cares 

To  build  on !     Central  peace,  mother  of  strength, 

That 's  father  of .  .  .  nay,  go  yourself  that  length, 

Ask  those  calm-hearted  doers  what  they  do 

When  they  have  got  their  calm  !     And  is  it  true, 

Fire  rankles  at  the  heart  of  every  globe  ? 

Perhaps  !     But  these  are  matters  one  may  probe 

Too  deeply  for  poetic  purposes  : 

Rather  select  a  theory  that .  .  .  yes, 

Laugh !  what  does  that  prove  ?  —  stations  you  midway 

And  saves  some  little  o'er-refining.     Nay, 

That 's  rank  injustice  done  me  !     I  restrict 

The  poet  ?     Don't  I  hold  the  poet  picked 

Out  of  a  host  of  warriors,  statesman  .  .  .  did 

I  tell  you  ?     Very  like  !     As  well  you  hid 

That  sense  of  power,  you  have !     True  bards  believe 

All  able  to  achieve  what  they  achieve  — 

That  is,  just  nothing  —  in  one  point  abide 

Profounder  simpletons  than  all  beside. 


68         THEIB    CRITICISMS    GIVE    SMALL    COMFORT  : 

Oh,  ay !     The  knowledge  that  you  are  a  bard 

Must  constitute  your  prime,  nay  sole,  reward  ! " 

So  prattled  Naddo,  busiest  of  the  tribe 

Of  genius-haunters  —  how  shall  I  describe 

What  grubs  or  nips,  or  rubs,  or  rips  —  your  louse 

For  love,  your  flea  for  hate,  magnanimous, 

Malignant,  Pappacoda,  Tagliafer, 

Picking  a  sustenance  from  wear  and  tear 

By  implements  it  sedulous  employs 

To  undertake,  lay  down,  mete  out,  o'er-toise 

Sordello  ?     Fifty  creepers  to  elude 

At  once !     They  settled  stanchly ;  shame  ensued : 

Behold  the  monarch  of  mankind  succumb 

To  the  last  fool  who  turned  him  round  his  thumb, 

As  Naddo  styled  it !     'T  was  not  worth  oppose 

The  matter  of  a  moment,  gainsay  those 

He  aimed  at  getting  rid  of;  better  think 

Their  thoughts  and  speak  their  speech,  secure  to  slink 

Back  expeditiously  to  his  safe  place, 

And  chew  the  cud  —  what  he  and  what  his  race 

Were  really,  each  of  them.     Yet  even  this 

Conformity  was  partial.     He  would  miss 

Some  point,  brought  into  contact  with  them  ere 

Assured  in  what  small  segment  of  the  sphere 

Of  his  existence  they  attended  him  ; 

Whence  blunders  —  falsehoods  rectify  —  a  grim 

List  —  slur  it  over !     How  ?     If  dreams  were  tried, 

His  will  swayed  sicklily  from  side  to  side, 

Nor  merely  neutralized  bis  waking  act 


AND    HIS    OWN   DEGRADATION   IS    COMPLETE.        69 

But  tended  e'en  in  fancy  to  distract 

The  intermediate  will,  the  choice  of  means. 

He  lost  the  art  of  dreaming :  Mantuan  scenes 

Supplied  a  baron,  say,  he  sung  before, 

Handsomely  reckless,  full  to  running  o'er 

Of  gallantries ;  "  abjure  the  soul,  content 

With  body,  therefore ! "     Scarcely  had  he  bent 

Himself  in  dream  thus  low,  when  matter  fast 

Cried  out,  he  found,  for  spirit  to  contrast 

And  task  it  duly  ;  by  advances  slight, 

The  simple  stuff  becoming  composite, 

Count  Lori  grew  Apollo  —  best  recall 

His  fancy !     Then  would  some  rough  peasant-Paul, 

Like  those  old  Ecelin  confers  with,  glance 

His  gay  apparel  o'er ;  that  countenance 

Gathered  his  shattered  fancy  into  one, 

And,  body  clean  abolished,  soul  alone 

Sufficed  the  gray  Paulician :  by  and  by, 

To  balance  the  ethereality, 

Passions  were  needed  ;  foiled  he  sunk  again. 

Meanwhile  the  world  rejoiced  ('t  is  time  explain) 
Because  a  sudden  sickness  set  it  free 
From  Adelaide.     Missing  the  mother-bee, 
Her  mountain-hive  Romano  swarmed ;  at  once 
A  rustle-forth  of  daughters  and  of  sons 
Blackened  the  valley.     "  I  am  sick  too  old, 
Half  crazed  I  think  ;  what  good 's  the  Kaiser's  gold 
To  such  an  one  ?     God  help  me !  for  I  catch 
My  children's  greedy  sparkling  eyes  at  watch  — 


70     ADELAIDE'S  DEATH  ;  WHAT  HAPPENS  ON  IT  : 

He  bears  that  double  breastplate  on,  they  say, 

So  many  minutes  less  than  yesterday  ! 

Beside,  Monk  Hilary  is  on  his  knees 

Now,  sworn  to  kneel  and  pray  till  God  shall  please 

Exact  a  punishment  for  many  things 

You  know,  and  some  you  never  knew ;  which  brings 

To  memory,  Azzo's  sister  Beatrix 

And  Ricliard's  Giglia  are  my  Alberic's 

And  Ecelin's  betrothed ;  the  Count  himself 

Must  get  my  Palma :  Ghibellin  and  Guelf 

Mean  to  embrace  each  other."     So  began 

Romano's  missive  to  his  fighting-man 

Taurello  —  on  the  Tuscan's  death,  away 

With  Friedrich  sworn  to  sail  from  Naples'  bay 

Next  month  for  Syria.     Never  thunder-chip 

Out  of  Vesuvius'  throat,  like  this  mishap 

Startled  him.     "  That  accursed  Vicenza !     I 

Absent,  and  she  selects  this  time  to  die ! 

Ho,  fellows,  for  Vicenza ! "     Half  a  score 

Of  horses  ridden  dead,  he  stood  before 

Romano  in  his  reeking  spurs  :  too  late  — 

"  Boniface  urged  me,  Este  could  not  wait," 

The  chieftain  stammered ;  "  let  me  die  in  peace  — 

Forget  me !     Was  it  I  e'er  craved  increase 

Of  rule  ?     Do  you  and  Friedrich  plot  your  worst 

Against  the  Father :  as  you  found  me  first 

So  leave  me  now.     Forgive  me !  Palma,  sure, 

Is  at  Goito  still.     Retain  that  lure  — 

Only  be  pacified  ! " 


AND   A   TBOUBLE   IT    OCCASIONS    SORDELLO.         71 

The  country  rung 

With  such  a  piece  of  news :  on  every  tongue, 
How  Ecelin's  great  servant,  congeed  off, 
Had  done  a  long  day's  service,  so,  might  doff 
The  green  and  yellow,  and  recover  breath 
At  Mantua,  whither,  —  since  Retrude's  death, 
(The  girlish  slip  of  a  Sicilian  bride 
From  Otho's  House,  he  carried  to  reside 
At  Mantua  till  the  Ferrarese  should  pile 
A  structure  worthy  her  imperial  style, 
The  gardens  raise,  the  statues  there  enshrine, 
She  never  lived  to  see)  —  although  his  line 
Was  ancient  in  her  archives  and  she  took 
A  pride  in  him,  that  city,  nor  forsook 
Her  child  when  he  forsook  himself  and  spent 
A  prowess  on  Romano  surely  meant 
For  his  own  growth  —  whither  he  ne'er  resorts 
If  wholly  satisfied  (to  trust  reports) 
With  Ecelin.     So,  forward  hi  a  trice 
Were  shows  to  greet  him.     "  Take  a  friend's  advice," 
Quoth  Naddo  to  Sordello,  "  nor  be  rash 
Because  your  rivals  (nothing  can  abash 
Some  folks)  demur  that  we  pronounced  you  best 
To  sound  the  great  man's  welcome  ;  't  is  a  test, 
Remember !  Strojavacca  looks  asquint, 
The  rough  fat  sloven ;  and  there 's  plenty  hint 
Your  pinions  have  received  of  late  a  shock  — 
Out-soar  them,  cobswan  of  the  silver  flock ! 
Sing  well !  "     A  signal  wonder,  song 's  no  whit 
Facilitated. 


72        HE    CHANCES    UPON   HIS    OLD    ENVIRONMENT, 

Fast  the  minutes  flit ; 
Another  day,  Sordello  finds,  will  bring 
The  soldier,  and  he  cannot  choose  but  uing ; 
So,  a  last  shift,  quits  Mantua  —  slow,  alone : 
Out  of  that  aching  brain,  a  very  stone, 
Song  must  be  struck.     What  occupies  that  front  ? 
Just  how  he  was  more  awkward  than  his  wont 
The  night  before,  when  Naddo,  who  had  seen 
Taurello  on  his  progress,  praised  the  mien 
For  dignity  no  crosses  could  affect  — 
Such  was  a  joy,  and  might  not  he  detect 
A  satisfaction  if  established  joys 
Were  proved  imposture  ?     Poetry  annoys 
Its  utmost :  wherefore  fret  ?     Verses  may  come 
Or  keep  away !     And  thus  he  wandered,  dumb 
Till  evening,  when  he  paused,  thoroughly  spent, 
On  a  blind  hill-top :  down  the  gorge  he  went, 
Yielding  himself  up  as  to  an  embrace. 
The  moon  came  out ;  like  features  of  a  face 
A  querulous  fraternity  of  pines, 
Sad  blackthorn  clumps,  leafless  and  grovelling  vines 
Also  came  out,  made  gradually  up 
The  picture ;  't  was  Goito's  mountain-cup 
And  castle.     He  had  dropped  through  one  defile 
He  never  dared  explore,  the  Chief  erewhile 
Had  vanished  by.     Back  rushed  the  dream,  enwrapped 
Him  wholly.     'T  was  Apollo  now  they  lapped, 
Those  mountains,  not  a  pettish  minstrel  meant 
To  wear  his  soul  away  in  discontent, 


SEES    BUT    FAILURE    IN    ALL    DONE    SINCE,  73 

Brooding  on  fortune's  malice.     Heart  and  brain 

Swelled ;  he  expanded  to  himself  again, 

As  some  thin  seedling  spice-tree  starved  and  frail, 

Pushing  between  cat's  head  and  ibis'  tail 

Crusted  into  the  porphyry  pavement  smooth, 

—  Suffered  remain  just  as  it  sprung,  to  soothe 

The  Soldan's  pining  daughter,  never  yet 

Well  in  her  chilly  green-glazed  minaret,  — 

When  rooted  up,  the  sunny  day  she  died, 

And  flung  into  the  common  court  beside 

Its  parent  tree.     Come  home,  Sordello !     Soon 

Was  he  low  muttering,  beneath  the  moon, 

Of  sorrow  saved,  of  quiet  evermore,  — 

Since  from  the  purpose,  he  maintained  before, 

Only  resulted  wailing  and  hot  tears. 

Ah,  the  slim  castle !  dwindled  of  late  years, 

But  more  mysterious ;  gone  to  ruin  —  trails 

Of  vine  through  every  loop-hole.     Naught  avails 

The  night  as,  torch  in  hand,  he  must  explore 

The  maple  chamber  —  did  I  say,  its  floor 

Was  made  of  intersecting  cedar  beams  ? 

Worn  now  with  gaps  so  large,  there  blew  cold  streams 

Of  air  quite  from  the  dungeon ;  lay  your  ear 

Close  and  't  is  like,  one  after  one,  you  hear 

In  the  blind  darkness  water  drop.     The  nests 

And  nooks  retained  their  long  ranged  vesture-chests 

Empty  and  smelling  ot  the  iris-root 

The  Tuscan  grated  o'er  them  to  recruit 

Her  wasted  wits.     Palma  was  gone  that  day, 

4 


74       AND   RESOLVES   TO    DESIST   FROM   THE   LIKE. 

Said  the  remaining  women.     Last,  he  lay 
Beside  the  Carian  group  reserved  and  still. 
The  Body,  the  Machine  for  Acting  Will, 
Had  been  at  the  commencement  proved  unfit ; 
That  for  Reflecting,  Demonstrating  it, 
Mankind  —  no  fitter :  was  the  Will  Itself 
In  fault  ? 

His  forehead  pressed  the  moonlit  shelf 
Beside  the  youngest  marble  maid  awhile ; 
Then,  raising  it,  he  thought,  with  a  long  smile, 
"  I  shall  be  king  again  ! "  as  he  withdrew 
The  envied  scarf;  into  the  font  he  threw 
His  crown. 

Next  day,  no  poet !     "  Wherefore  ?  "  asked 
Taurello,  when  the  dance  of  Jongleurs,  masked 
As  devils,  ended ;  "  don't  a  song  come  next  ?  " 
The  master  of  the  pageant  looked  perplext 
Till  Naddo's  whisper  came  to  his  relief. 
"  His  Highness  knew  what  poets  were :  in  brief, 
Had  not  the  tetchy  race  prescriptive  right 
To  peevishness,  caprice  ?  or,  call  it  spite, 
One  must  receive  their  nature  in  its  length 
And  breadth,  expect  the  weakness  with  the  strength  ! " 
—  So  phrasing,  till,  his  stock  of  phrases  spent, 
The  easy-natured  soldier  smiled  assent, 
Settled  his  portly  person,  smoothed  his  chin, 
And  nodded  that  the  bull-bait  might  begin. 


BOOK    THE    THIRD. 

HATITRE    HAT     TRIUMPH     THEREFORE  J 

the  font  took  them :  let  our  laurels  lie ! 
Braid  moonfern  now  with  mystic  trifoly 
Because  once  more  Goito  gets,  once  more, 
Sordello  to  itself!     A  dream  is  o'er, 
And  the  suspended  life  begins  anew  ; 
Quiet  those  throbbing  temples,  then,  subdue 
That  cheek's  distortion  !     Nature's  strict  embrace, 
Putting  aside  the  Past,  shall  soon  efface 
Its  print  as  well  —  factitious  humors  grown 
Over  the  true  —  loves,  hatreds  not  his  own  — 
And  turn  him  pure  as  some  forgotten  vest 
Woven  of  painted  byssus,  silkiest 
Tufting  the  Tyrrhene  whelk's  pearl-sheeted  lip, 
Left  welter  where  a  trireme  let  it  slip 
F  the  sea,  and  vexed  a  satrap ;  so  the  stain 
0'  the  world  forsakes  Sordello,  with  its  pain, 
Its  pleasure :  how  the  tinct  loosening  escapes, 
Cloud  after  cloud !     Mantua's  familiar  shapes 
Die,  fair  and  foul  die,  fading  as  they  flit, 
Men,  women,  and  the  pathos  and  the  wit, 
Wise  speech  and  foolish,  deeds  to  smile  or  sigh 
For,  good,  bad,  seemly  or  ignoble,  die. 
The  last  face  glances  through  the  eglantines, 


76        FOR   HER    SON,    LATELY   ALIVE,    DIES    AGAIN, 

The  last  voice  murmurs  'twixt  the  blossomed  vines 

Of  Men,  of  that  machine  supplied  by  thought 

To  compass  self-perception  with,  he  sought 

By  forcing  half  himself — an  insane  pulse 

Of  a  god's  blood,  on  clay  it  could  convulse, 

Never  transmute  —  on  human  sights  and  sounds, 

To  watch  the  other  half  with ;  irksome  bounds 

It  ebbs  from  to  its  source,  a  fountain  sealed 

Forever.     Better  sure  be  unrevealed 

Than  part-revealed  :  Sordello  well  or  ill 

Is  finished :  then  what  further  use  of  Will, 

A  point  in  the  prime  idea  not  realized, 

An  oversight  ?  inordinately  prized, 

No  less,  and  pampered  with  enough  of  each 

Delight  to  prove  the  whole  above  its  reach. 

*  To  need  become  all  natures,  yet  retain 

The  law  of  my  own  nature  —  to  remain 

Myself,  yet  yearn  ...  as  if  that  chestnut,  think, 

Should  yearn  for  this  first  larch-bloom  crisp  and  pink, 

Or  those  pale  fragrant  tears  where  zephyrs  stanch 

March  wounds  along  the  fretted  pine-tree  branch ! 

Will  and  the  means  to  show  will,  great  and  small, 

Material,  spiritual,  —  abjure  them  all 

Save  any  so  distinct,  they  may  be  left 

To  amuse,  not  tempt  become  !  and,  thus  bereft, 

Just  as  I  first  was  fashioned  would  I  be ! 

Nor,  Moon,  is  it  Apollo  now,  but  me 

Thou  visitest  to  comfort  and  befriend  ! 

Swim  thou  into  my  heart,  and  there  an  end, 


—  WAS   FOUND    AND   IS   LOST.  77 

Since  I  possess  thee  !  —  nay,  thus  shut  mine  eyes 
And  know,  quite  know,  by  this  heart's  fall  and  rise, 
When  thou  dost  bury  thee  in  clouds,  and  when 
Out-standest :  wherefore  practise  upon  men 
To  make  that  plainer  to  myself?" 

Slide  here 

Over  a  sweet  and  solitary  year 
Wasted  :  or  simply  notice  change  in  him  — 
How  eyes,  bright  with  exploring  once,  grew  dim 
And  satiate  with  receiving.     Some  distress 
Was  caused,  too,  by  a  sort  of  consciousness 
Under  the  imbecility,  —  naught  kept 
That  down ;  he  slept,  but  was  aware  he  slept. 
So,  frustrated :  as  who  brainsick  made  pact 
Erst  with  the  overhanging  cataract 
To  deafen  him,  yet  still  distinguished  slow 
His  own  blood's  measured  clicking  at  his  brow. 

To  finish.     One  declining  Autumn  day  — 
Few  birds  about  the  heaven  chill  and  gray, 
No  wind  that  cared  trouble  the  tacit  woods  — 
He  sauntered  home  complacently,  their  moods 
According,  his  and  Nature's.     Every  spark 
Of  Mantua  life  was  trodden  out ;  so  dark 
The  embers,  that  the  Troubadour,  who  sung 
Hundreds  of  songs,  forgot,  its  trick  his  tongue, 
Its  craft  his  brain,  how  either  brought  to  pass 
Singing  at  all ;  that  faculty  might  class 
With  any  of  Apollo's  now.     The  year 
Began  to  find  its  early  promise  sere 


78    BUT   NATUBE   IS    ONE   THING,   MAN   ANOTHER  — 

As  well.     Thus  beauty  vanishes ;  thus  stone 

Outlingers  flesh :  Nature's  and  his  youth  gone, 

They  left  the  world  to  you,  and  wished  you  joy. 

When,  stopping  his  benevolent  employ, 

A  presage  shuddered  through  the  welkin ;  harsh 

The  earth's  remonstrance  followed.     'T  was  the  marsh 

Gone  of  a  sudden.     Mincio,  in  its  place, 

Laughed,  a  broad  water,  in  next  morning's  face, 

And,  where  the  mists  broke  up  immense  and  white 

F  the  steady  wind,  burned  like  a  spilth  of  light 

Out  of  the  crashing  of  a  myriad  stars. 

And  here  was  Nature,  bound  by  the  same  bars 

Of  fate  with  him ! 

"  No !  youth  once  gone  is  gone  : 
Deeds  let  escape  are  never  to  be  done. 
Leaf-fall  and  grass-spring  for  the  year ;  for  us  — 
Oh  forfeit  I  unalterably  thus 
My  chance  ?  nor  two  lives  wait  me,  this  to  spend 
Learning  save  that  ?     Nature  has  time  to  mend 
Mistake,  she  knows  occasion  will  recur  — 
Landslip  or  seabreach,  how  affects  it  her 
With  her  magnificent  resources  ?  —  I 
Must  perish  once  and  perish  utterly ! 
Not  any  strollings  now  at  even-close 
Down  the  field-path,  Sordello !  by  thorn-rows 
Alive  with  lamp-flies,  swimming  spots  of  fire 
And  dew,  outlining  the  black  cypress'  spire 
She  waits  you  at,  Elys,  who  heard  you  first 
Woo  her,  the  snow-month  through,  but  ere  she  durst 


HAVING   MULTIFARIOUS   SYMPATHIES,  79 

Answer  't  was  April !  Linden-flower-time-long 

Her  eyes  were  on  the  ground ;  't  is  July,  strong 

Now ;  and  because  white  dust-clouds  overwhelm 

The  woodside,  here  or  by  the  village  elm 

That  holds  the  moon,  she  meets  you,  somewhat  pale, 

But  letting  you  lift  up  her  coarse  flax  veil 

And  whisper  (the  damp  little  hand  hi  yours) 

Of  love,  heart's  love,  your  heart's  love  that  endures 

Till  death.     Tush !     No  mad  mixing  with  the  rout 

Of  haggard  ribalds  wandering  about 

The  hot  torchlit  wine-scented  island-house 

Where  Friedrich  holds  his  wickedest  carouse, 

Parading,  —  to  the  gay  Palermitans, 

Soft  Messinese,  dusk  Saracenic  clans 

Nuocera  holds,  —  those  tall  grave  dazzling  Norse, 

High-cheeked,  lank -haired,  toothed  whiter  than  the  morse, 

Queens  of  the  caves  of  jet  stalactites, 

He  sent  his  barks  to  fetch  through  icy  seas, 

The  blind  night  seas  without  a  saving  star, 

And  here  in  snowy  birdskin  robes  they  are, 

Sordello  !  —  here,  mollitious  alcoves  gilt 

Superb  as  Byzant  domes  that  devils  built ! 

—  Ah,  Byzant,  there  again !  no  chance  to  go 

Ever  like  august  pleasant  Dandolo, 

Worshipping  hearts  about  him  for  a  wall, 

Conducted,  blind  eyes,  hundred  years  and  all, 

Tlirough  vanquished  Byzant  where  friends  note  for  him 

What  pillar,  marble  massive,  sardius  slim, 

T  were  fittest  he  transport  to  Venice'  Square  — 


80       HE   MAT   NEITHER   RENOUNCE   NOR   SATISFY; 

Flattered  and  promised  life  to  touch  them  there 

Soon,  by  his  fervid  sons  of  senators ! 

No  more  lifes,  deaths,  loves,  hatreds,  peaces,  wars  — 

Ah,  fragments  of  a  whole  ordained  to  be ! 

Points  in  the  life  I  waited !  what  are  ye 

But  roundels  of  a  ladder  which  appeared 

Awhile  the  very  platform  it  was  reared 

To  lift  me  on  ?  —  that  happiness  I  find 

Proofs  of  my  faith  in,  even  in  the  blind 

Instinct  which  bade  forego  you  all  unless 

Ye  led  me  past  yourselves.     Ay,  happiness 

Awaited  me ;  the  way  life  should  be  used 

Was  to  acquire,  and  deeds  like  you  conduced 

To  teach  it  by  a  self-revealment,  deemed 

The  very  use,  so  long !     Whatever  seemed 

Progress  to  that,  was  pleasure ;  aught  that  stayed 

My  reaching  it  —  no  pleasure.     I  have  laid 

The  ladder  down ;  I  climb  not ;  still,  aloft 

The  platform  stretches !     Blisses  strong  and  soft, 

I  dared  not  entertain,  elude  me ;  yet 

Never  of  what  they  promised  could  I  get 

A  glimpse  till  now !     The  common  sort,  the  crowd 

Exist,  perceive ;  with  Being  are  endowed, 

However  slight,  distinct  from  what  they  See, 

However  bounded :  Happiness  must  be, 

To  feed  the  first  by  gleanings  from  the  last, 

Attain  its  qualities,  and  slow  or  fast 

Become  what  they  behold  ;  such  peace-in-strife 

By  transmutation,  is  the  Use  of  Life, 

The  Alien  turning  Native  to  the  soul 


IN    THE    PROCESS    TO    WHICH    IS    PLEASURE,  81 

Or  body  —  which  instructs  me  ;  I  am  whole 

There  and  demand  a  Palma ;  had  the  world 

Been  from  my  soul  to  a  like  distance  hurled, 

T  were  Happiness  to  make  it  one  with  me  — 

Whereas  I  must,  ere  I  begin  to  Be, 

Include  a  world,  in  flesh,  I  comprehend 

In  spirit  now ;  and  this  done,  what 's  to  blend 

With  ?     Naught  is  Alien  in  the  world  —  my  Will 

Owns  all  already  ;  yet  can  turn  it  still 

Less  Native,  since  my  Means  to  correspond 

With  Will  are  so  unworthy,  't  was  my  bond 

To  tread  the  very  joys  that  tantalize 

Most  now,  into  a  grave,  never  to  rise. 

I  die  then  !     Will  the  rest  agree  to  die  ? 

Next  Age  or  no  ?     Shall  its  Sordello  try 

Clew  after  clew,  and  catch  at  last  the  clew 

I  miss  ?  —  that 's  underneath  my  finger  too, 

Twice,  thrice  a  day,  perhaps,  —  some  yearning  traced 

Deeper,  some  petty  consequence  embraced 

Closer !     Why  fled  I  Mantua,  then  ?  —  complained 

So  much  my  Will  was  fettered,  yet  remained 

Content  within  a  tether  half  the  range 

I  could  assign  it  ?  —  able  to  exchange 

My  ignorance  (I  felt)  for  knowledge,  and 

[die  because  I  could  thus  understand  — 

Could  e'en  have  penetrated  to  its  core 

Our  mortal  mystery,  and  yet  forbore, 

Preferred  elaborate?  in  the  dark 

My  casual  stuff,  bv  any  wretched  soark 

4*  » 


82  WHILE   RENUNCIATION   INSURES    DESPAIR. 

Born  of  my  predecessors,  though  one  stroke 

Of  mine  had  brought  the  flame  forth  !     Mantua's  yoke, 

My  minstrel's-trade,  was  to  behold  mankind,  — 

My  own  concernment — just  to  bring  my  mind 

Behold,  just  extricate,  for  my  acquist, 

Each  object  suffered  stifle  in  the  mist 

Which  hazard,  use  and  blindness  could  impose 

In  their  relation  to  myself." 

He  rose. 

The  level  wind  carried  above  the  firs 
Clouds,  the  irrevocable  travellers, 
Onward. 

"  Pushed  thus  into  a  drowsy  copse, 
Arms  twine  about  my  neck,  each  eyelid  drops 
Under  a  humid  finger ;  while  there  fleets, 
Outside  the  screen,  a  pageant  time  repeats 
Never  again !     To  be  deposed  —  immured 
Clandestinely  —  still  petted,  still  assured 
To  govern  were  fatiguing  work  —  the  Sight 
Fleeting  meanwhile  !     'T  is  noontide  :  wreak  ere  night 
Somehow  my  will  upon  it,  rather  !     Slake 
This  thirst  somehow,  the  poorest  impress  take 
That  serves  !     A  blasted  bud  displays  you,  torn, 
Faint  rudiments  of  the  full  flower  unborn  ; 
But  who  divines  what  glory  coats  o'erclasp 
Of  the  bulb  dormant  in  the  mummy's  grasp 
Taurello  sent "... 

"  Taurello  ?     Palma  sent 
four  Trouvere,"  (iNaudo  interposing  ie.inv 


THERE   13    YET   A    WAT   OF    ESCAPING   THI8  ;        83 

Over  the  lost  bard's  shoulder)  —  "  and,  believe, 

You  cannot  more  reluctantly  receive 

Than  I  pronounce  her  message :  we  depart 

Together.     What  avail  a  poet's  heart 

Verona's  pomps  and  gauds  ?  five  blades  of  grass 

Suffice  him.     News  ?     Why,  where  your  marish  was, 

On  its  mud-banks  smoke  fast  rises  after  smoke 

F  the  valley,  like  a  spout  of  hell  new-broke. 

0,  the  world's  tidings  !  small  your  thanks,  I  guess, 

For  them.     The  father  of  our  Patroness, 

Has  played  Taurello  an  astounding  trick, 

Parts  between  Ecelin  and  Alberic 

His  wealth  and  goes  into  a  convent :  both 

Wed  Guelfs :  the  Count  and  Palma  plighted  troth 

A  week  since  at  Verona :  and  they  want 

You  doubtless  to  contrive  the  marriage-chant 

Ere  Richard  storms  Ferrara."     Here  was  told 

The  tale  from  the  beginning  —  how,  made  bold 

By  Salinguerra's  absence,  Guelfs  had  burned 

And  pillaged  till  he  unawares  returned 

To  take  revenge :  how  Azzo  and  his  friend 

Were  doing  their  endeavor,  how  the  end 

Of  the  siege  was  nigh,  and  how  the  Count,  released 

From  further  care,  would  with  his  marriage-feast 

Inaugurate  a  new  and  better  rule, 

Absorbing  thus  Romano. 

"  Shall  I  school 

My  master,"  added  Naddo,  "  and  suggest 
How  you  may  clothe  in  a  poetic  ~est 


84      WHICH    HE    NOW    TAKES    BY    OBEYING    PALMA: 

These  doings,  at  Verona  ?     Your  response 

To  Palma  !     Wherefore  jest  ?     '  Depart  at  once  ? ' 

A  good  resolve  !     In  truth,  I  hardly  hoped 

So  prompt  an  acquiescence.     Have  you  groped 

Out  wisdom  in  the  wilds  here  ?  —  Thoughts  may  be 

Over-poetical  for  poetry. 

Pearl-white,  you  poets  liken  Palma's  neck ; 

And  yet  what  spoils  an  orient  like  some  speck 

Of  genuine  white,  turning  its  own  white  gray  ? 

You  take  me  ?     Curse  the  cicale  ! " 

One  more  day. 

One  eve  —  appears  Verona !     Many  a  group, 
(You  mind)  instructed  of  the  osprey's  swoop 
On  lynx  and  ounce,  was  gathering  —  Christendom 
Sure  to  receive,  whate'er  the  end  was,  from 
The  evening's  purpose  cheer  or  detriment, 
Since  Friedrich  only  waited  some  event 
Like  this,  of  Ghibellins  establishing 
Themselves  within  Ferrara,  ere,  as  King 
Of  Lombardy,  he  'd  glad  descend  there,  wage 
Old  warfare  with  the  Pontiff,  disengage 
His  barons  from  the  burghers,  and  restore 
The  rule  of  Charlemagne,  broken  of  yore 
By  Hildebrand. 

In  the  palace,  each  by  each, 
Sordello  sat  and  Palma :  little  speech 
At  first  in  that  dim  closet,  face  with  face 
(Despite  the  tumult  in  the  market-place) 
Exchanging  quick  low  laughters :  now  would  rush 


WHO    THEREUPON   BECOMES   HIS   ASSOCIATE,       85 

Word  upon  word  to  meet  a  sudden  flush, 

A  look  left  off,  a  shifting  lips'  surmise  — 

But  for  the  most  part  their  two  histories 

Ran  best  thro'  the  locked  fingers  and  linked  arms. 

And  so  the  night  flew  on  with  its  alarms 

Till  in  burst  one  of  Palma's  retinue  ; 

"  Now,  Lady  !  "  gasped  he.     Then  arose  the  two 

And  leaned  into  Verona's  air,  dead-still. 

A  balcony  lay  black  beneath  until 

Out,  'mid  a  gush  of  torchfire,  gray-haired  men 

Came  on  it  and  harangued  the  people  :  then 

Sea-like  that  people  surging  to  and  fro 

Shoutod,  "  Hale  forth  the  Carroch  —  trumpets,  ho, 

A  flourish  !  run  it  in  the  ancient  grooves  — 

Back  from  the  bell !     Hammer !  that  whom  behooves 

May  hear  the  League  is  up  !     Peal !  learn  who  list, 

Verona  means  not  be  the  first  break  tryst 

To-morrow  with  the  League  ! " 

Enough.     Now  turn  — • 
Over  the  eastern  cypresses :  discern  — 
Is  any  beacon  set  a-glimmer  ? 

Rang 

The  air  with  shouts  that  overpowered  the  clang 
Of  the  incessant  carroch,  even  :  "  Haste  — 
The  Candle  's  at  the  gateway  !  ere  it  waste, 
Each  soldier  stand  beside  it,  armed  to  march 
With  Tiso  Sampier  through  the  eastern  arch  !  * 
Ferrara  's  succored,  Palma ! 

Once  again 


86       AS    HER    OWN    HISTORY   WILL   ACCOUNT   FOK, 

They  sat  together ;  some  strange  thing  in  train 

To  say,  so  difficult  was  Palma's  place 

In  taking,  with  a  coy  fastidious  grace 

Like  the  bird's  flutter  ere  it  fix  and  feed. 

But  when  she  felt  she  held  her  friend  indeed 

Safe,  she  threw  back  her  curls,  began  implant 

Her  lessons ;  telling  of  another  want 

Gcito's  quiet  nourished  than  his  own ; 

Palma  —  to  serve,  as  him  —  be  served,  alone 

Importing ;  Agnes'  milk  so  neutralized 

The  blood  of  Ecelin.     Nor  be  surprised 

If,  while  Sordello  fain  had  captive  led 

Nature,  in  dream  was  Palma  wholly  subjected 

To  some  out-soul,  which  dawned  not  though  she  pined 

Delaying  till  its  advent,  heart  and  mind, 

Their  life.     "  How  dared  I  let  expand  the  force 

Within  me,  till  some  out-soul,  whose  resource 

It  grew  for,  should  direct  it  ?     Every  law 

Of  life,  its  every  fitness,  every  flaw, 

Must  One  determine  whose  corporeal  shape 

Would  be  no  other  than  the  prime  escape 

And  revelation  to  me  of  a  Will 

Orb-like  o'ershrouded  and  inscrutable 

Above,  save  at  the  point  which,  I  should  know, 

Shone  that  myself,  my  powers,  might  overflow 

So  far,  so  much ;  as  now  it  signified 

Which  earthly  shape  it  henceforth  chose  my  guide, 

Whose  mortal  lip  selected  to  declare 

Its  oracles,  what  fleshly  garb  would  wear ; 


A   REVERSE   TO,   AND    COMPLETION   OF,    HIS.     87 

—  The  first  of  intimations,  whom  to  love ; 

The  next,  how  love  him.     Seemed  that  orb,  above 

The  castle-covert  and  the  mountain-close, 

Slow  in  appearing,  —  if  beneath  it  rose 

Cravings,  aversions,  —  did  our  green  precinct 

Take  pride  in  me,  at  unawares  distinct 

With  this  or  that  endowment,  —  how,  represt 

At  once,  such  jetting  power  shrunk  to  the  rest ! 

Was  I  to  have  a  chance  touch  spoil  me,  leave 

My  spirit  thence  unfitted  to  receive 

The  consummating  spell  ?  —  that  spell  so  near 

Moreover !     '  Waits  he  not  the  waking  year  ? 

His  almond-blossoms  must  be  honey-ripe 

By  this ;  to  welcome  him,  fresh  runnels  stripe 

The  thawed  ravines ;  because  of  him,  the  wind 

Walks  like  a  herald.     I  shall  surely  find 

Him  now ! ' 

And  chief,  that  earnest  April  morn 
Of  Richard's  Love-court,  was  it  time,  so  worn 
And  white  my  cheek,  so  idly  my  blood  beat, 
Sitting  that  morn  beside  the  Lady's  feet 
And  saying  as  she  prompted  ;  till  outburst 
One  face  from  all  the  faces  —  not  then  first 
I  knew  it ;  where  in  maple  chamber  glooms, 
Crowned  with  what  sanguine-heart  pomegranate  blooms 
Advanced  it  ever  ?    Men's  acknowledgment 
Sanctioned  my  own :  't  was  taken,  Palma's  bent,  — 
Sordello,  accepted. 

And  the  Tuscan  dumb 


88  HOW    SHIi    KVKR    ASi'lKKD    FOR    HIS    SAKE, 

Sat  scheming,  scheming.     Ecelin  would  come 
Gaunt,  scared, '  Cesano  baffles  me,'  he  'd  say : 
Better  I  fought  it  out,  my  father's  way ! 
Strangle  Ferrara  in  its  drowning  flats, 
And  you  and  your  Taurello  yonder  —  what  'a 
Romano's  business  there  ? '     An  hour's  concern 
To  cure  the  fro  ward  Chief!  —  induced  return 
Much  heartened  from  those  overmeaning  eyes, 
Wound  up  to  persevere,  —  his  enterprise 
Marked  out  anew,  its  exigent  of  wit 
Apportioned,  —  she  at  liberty  to  sit 
And  scheme  against  the  next  emergence,  I  — 
To  covet  her  Taurello-sprite,  made  fly 
Or  fold  the  wing  —  to  con  your  horoscope 
For  leave  command  those  steely  shafts  shoot  ope, 
Or  straight  assuage  their  blinding  eagerness 
To  blank  smooth  snow.     What  semblance  of  success 
To  any  of  my  plans  for  making  you 
Mine  and  Romano's  ?     Break  the  first  wall  through, 
Tread  o'er  the  ruins  of  the  Chief,  supplant 
His  sons  beside,  still,  vainest  were  the  vaunt : 
There,  Salinguerra  would  obstruct  me  sheer, 
And  the  insuperable  Tuscan,  here, 
Stayed  me !     But  one  wild  eve  that  Lady  died 
In  her  lone  chamber :  only  I  beside : 
Taurello  far  at  Naples,  and  my  sire 
At  Padua,  Ecelin  away  in  ire 
With  Alberic.     She  held  me  thus  —  a  clutch 
To  make  our  spirits  as  our  bodies  touch  — 


CIRCUMSTANCES    HELPING    OR    HINDERING.  89 

And  so  began  flinging  the  Past  up,  heaps 
Of  uncouth  treasure  from  their  sunless  sleeps 
Within  her  soul ;  deeds  rose  along  with  dreams, 
Fragments  of  many  miserable  schemes, 
Secrets,  more  secrets,  then  —  no,  not  the  last  — • 
'Mongst  others,  like  a  casual  trick  o'  the  Past, 
How  ...  ay,  she  told  me,  gathering  up  her  face 

—  All  left  of  it,  into  one  arch-grimace 
To  die  with  .  .  . 

Friend,  't  is  gone  !  but  not  the  fear 
Of  that  fell  laughing,  heard  as  now  I  hear. 
Nor  faltered  voice,  nor  seemed  her  heart  grow  weak, 
When  i'  the  midst  abrupt  she  ceased  to  speak 

—  Dead,  as  to  serve  a  purpose,  mark !  —  for  in 
Rushed  o'  the  very  instant  Ecelin 

(How  summoned,  who  divines  ?)  —  looking  as  if 

He  understood  why  Adelaide  lay  stiff 

Already  in  my  arms ;  for, '  Girl,  how  must 

I  manage  Este  in  the  matter  thrust 

Upon  me,  how  unravel  your  bad  coil  ?  — 

Since '  (he  declared)  '  't  is  on  your  brow  —  a  soil 

Like  hers,  there ! '  then  in  the  same  breath, '  he  lacked 

No  counsel  after  all,  had  signed  no  pact 

With  devils,  nor  was  treason  here  or  there, 

Goito  or  Vicenza,  his  affair : 

He  buried  it  in  Adelaide's  deep  grave, 

Would  begin  life  afresh,  now,  —  would  not  slave 

For  any  Friedrich's  nor  Taurello's  sake  ! 

W"hat  booted  him  to  meddle  or  to  make 


90         HOW   SUCCESS   AT   LAST   SEEMED   POSSIBLE, 

In  Lombardy  ? '     And  afterward  I  knew 
The  meaning  of  his  promise  to  undo 
All  she  had  done  —  why  marriages  were  made, 
New  friendships  entered  on,  old  followers  paid 
"With  curses  for  their  pains,  —  new  friends'  amaze 
At  height,  when,  passing  out  by  Gate  St.  Blaise, 
He  stopped  short  in  Vicenza,  bent  his  head 
Over  a  friar's  neck,  —  'had  vowed,'  he  said, 
'  Long  since,  nigh  thirty  years,  because  his  wife 
And  child  were  saved  there,  to  bestow  his  life 
On  God,  his  gettings  on  the  Church.' 

Exiled 

"Within  Goito,  still  one  dream  beguiled 
My  days  and  nights ;   t  was  found,  the  orb  I  sought 
To  serve,  those  glimpses  came  of  Fomalhaut, 
No  other :  but  how  serve  it  ?  —  authorize 
You  and  Romano  mingle  destinies  ? 
And  straight  Romano's  angel  stood  beside 
Me  who  had  else  been  Boniface's  bride, 
For  Salinguerra  't  was,  with  neck  low  bent, 
And  voice  lightened  to  music,  (as  he  meant 
To  learn  not  teach  me,)  who  withdrew  the  pall 
From  the  dead  Past  and  straight  revived  it  all, 
Making  me  see  how  first  Romano  waxed, 
Wherefore  he  waned  now,  why,  if  I  relaxed 
My  grasp  (even  I !)  would  drop  a  thing  effete, 
Frayed  by  itself,  unequal  to  complete 
[ts  course,  and  counting  every  step  astray 
A.  gain  so  much.     Romano,  every  way 


BY    THE    INTERVENTION    OF   SALINGUEREA :          91 

Stable,  a  Lombard  House  now  —  why  start  back 

Into  the  very  outset  of  its  track  ? 

This  patching-principle  which  late  allied 

Our  House  with  other  Houses  —  what  beside 

Concerned  the  apparition,  the  first  Knight 

Who  followed  Conrad  hither  in  such  plight 

His  utmost  wealth  was  summed  in  his  one  steed  ? 

For  Ecelo,  that  prowler,  was  decreed 

A  task,  in  the  beginning  hazardous 

To  him  as  ever  task  can  be  to  us ; 

But  did  the  weather-beaten  thief  despair 

When  first  our  crystal  cincture  of  warm  air,  — 

That  binds  the  Trevisan,  —  as  its  spice-belt 

(Crusaders  say)  the  tract  where  Jesus  dwelt, — 

Furtive  he  pierced,  and  Este  was  to  face  — 

Despaired  Saponian  strength  of  Lombard  grace? 

Tried  he  at  making  surer  aught  made  sure, 

Maturing  what  already  was  mature  ? 

No ;  his  heart  prompted  Ecelo, '  Confront 

Este,  inspect  yourself.     What 's  nature  ?     Wont. 

Discard  three-parts  your  nature,  and  adopt 

The  rest  as  an  advantage ! '     Old  strength  propped 

The  man  who  first  grew  Podesta  among 

The  Vincentines,  no  less  than,  while  there  sprung 

His  palace  up  in  Padua  like  a  threat, 

Their  noblest  spied  a  grace,  unnoticed  yet 

In  Conrad's  crew.     Thus  far  the  object  gained, 

Romano  was  established  —  has  remained  — 

For  are  you  not  Italian,  truly  peers 


92         WHO    REMEDIED    ILL    WROUGHT    BY    ECELIN, 

With  Este  ?    '  Azzo '  better  soothes  our  ears 

Than  '  Alberic  ? '  or  is  this  lion's-crine 

From  over-mounts  '  (this  yellow  hair  of  mine) 

'  So  weak  a  graft  on  Agnes  Este's  stock  ? ' 

(Thus  went  he  on  with  something  of  a  mock) 

'  Wherefore  recoil,  then,  from  the  very  fate 

Conceded  you,  refuse  to  imitate 

Your  model  farther  ?     Este  long  since  left 

Being  mere  Este  :  as  a  blade  its  heft, 

Este  required  the  Pope  to  further  him : 

And  you,  the  Kaiser  —  whom  your  father's  whim 

Foregoes  or,  better,  never  shall  forego 

If  Palma  dare  pursue  what  Ecelo 

Commenced,  but  Ecelin  desists  from :  just 

As  Adelaide  of  Susa  could  intrust 

Her  donative,  —  her  Piedmont  given  the  Pope, 

Her  Alpine-pass  for  him  to  shut  or  ope 

'Twixt  France  and  Italy,  —  to  the  superb 

Matilda's  perfecting,  —  so,  lest  aught  curb 

Our  Adelaide's  great  counter-project  for 

Giving  her  Trentine  to  the  Emperor 

With  passage  here  from  Germany,  —  shall  you 

Take  it,  —  my  slender  plodding  talent,  too ! ' 

—  Urged  me  Taurello  with  his  half-smile. 

He 

As  Patron  of  the  scattered  family 
Conveyed  me  to  his  Mantua,  kept  in  bruit 
Azzo's  alliances  and  Richard's  suit 
Jntil,  the  Kaiser  excommunicate, 


AND  HAD  A  PROJECT  FOR  HER  OWN  GLOBT,   93 

Nothing  remains,'  Taurello  said,  '  but  wait 
Some  rash  procedure :  Palma  was  the  link, 
As  Agnes'  child,  between  us,  and  they  shrink 
From  losing  Palma :  judge  if  we  advance, 
Your  father's  method,  your  inheritance ! ' 
That  day  I  was  betrothed  to  Boniface 
At  Padua  by  Taurello's  self,  took  place 
The  outrage  of  the  Ferrarese :  again, 
That  day  I  sought  Verona  with  the  train 
Agreeed  for,  —  by  Taurello's  policy 
Convicting  Richard  of  the  fault,  since  we 
Were  present  to  annul  or  to  confirm,  — 
Richard,  whose  patience  had  outstayed  its  term, 
Quitted  Verona  for  the  siege. 

And  now 

What  glory  may  engird  Bordello's  brow 
Through  this  ?     A  month  since  at  Oliero  slunk 
All  that  was  Ecelin  into  a  monk ; 
But  how  could  Salinguerra  so  forget 
His  liege  of  thirty  years  as  grudge  even  yet 
One  effort  to  recover  him  ?     He  sent 
Forthwith  the  tidings  of  this  last  event 
To  Ecelin  —  declared  that  he,  despite 
The  recent  folly,  recognized  his  right 
To  order  Salinguerra :  '  Should  he  wring 
Its  uttermost  advantage  out,  or  fling 
This  chance  away  ?     Or  were  his  sons  now  Head 
Of  the  House  ? '     Through  me  Taurello's  missive  sped ; 
My  father's  answer  will  by  me  return. 


94     WHICH    SHK    WOULD    CHANGE    TO    BORDELLO'S. 

Behold !  '  For  him,'  he  writes, '  no  more  concern 
With  strife  than,  for  his  children,  with  fresh  plots 
Of  Friedrich.     Old  engagements  out  he  blots 
For  aye :  Taurello  shall  no  more  subserve, 
Nor  Ecelin  impose.'     Lest  this  unnerve 
Taurello  at  this  juncture,  slack  his  grip 
Of  Richard,  suffer  the  occasion  slip,  — 
I,  in  his  sons'  default  (who,  mating  with 
Este,  forsake  Romano  as  the  frith 
Its  mainsea  for  the  firmland,  sea  makes  head 
Against)  I  stand,  Romano,  —  in  their  stead 
Assume  the  station  they  desert,  and  give 
Still,  as  the  Kaiser's  representative, 
Taurello  license  he  demands.     Midnight  — 
Morning  —  by  noon  to-morrow,  making  light 
Of  the  League's  issue,  we,  in  some  gay  weed 
Like  yours,  disguised  together,  may  precede 
The  arbitrators  to  Ferrara :  reach 
Him,  let  Taurello's  noble  accents  teach 
The  rest !  then  say  if  I  have  misconceived 
Your  destiny,  too  readily  believed 
The  Kaiser's  cause  your  own ! " 

And  Palma  's  fled 

Though  no  affirmative  disturbs  the  head, 
A  dying  lamp-flame  sinks  and  rises  o'er, 
Like  the  alighted  planet  Pollux  wore, 
Until,  morn  breaking,  he  resolves  to  be 
Gate-vein  of  this  heart's  blood  of  Lombardy, 
Soul  of  this  body  —  to  wield  this  aggregate 


THUS   THEN,   HAVING    COMPLETED    A    CIRCLE,       96 

Of  souls  and  bodies,  and  so  conquer  fate 

Though  he  should  live  —  a  centre  of  disgust 

Even  —  apart,  core  of  the  outward  crust 

He  vivified,  assimilated.     Thus 

I  bring  Sordello  to  the  rapturous 

Exclaim  at  the  crowd's  cry,  because  one  round 

Of  life  was  quite  accomplished ;  and  he  found 

Not  only  that  a  soul,  whate'er  its  might, 

Is  insufficient  to  its  own  delight, 

Both  in  corporeal  organs  and  in  skill 

By  means  of  such  to  body  forth  its  Will  — 

And,  after,  insufficient  to  apprise 

Men  of  that  Will,  oblige  them  recognize 

The  Hid  by  the  Revealed  —  but  that,  the  last 

Nor  lightest  of  the  struggles  overpast, 

His  Will,  bade  abdicate,  which  would  not  void 

The  throne,  might  sit  there,  suffer  be  enjoyed 

Mankind,  a  varied  and  divine  array 

Incapable  of  homage,  the  first  way, 

Nor  fit  to  render  incidentally 

Tribute  connived  at,  taken  by  the  by, 

In  joys.     If  thus  with  warrant  to  rescind 

The  ignominious  exile  of  mankind  — 

Whose  proper  service,  ascertained  intact 

As  yet,  (to  be  by  him  themselves  made  act, 

Not  watch  Sordello  acting  each  of  them) 

Was  to  secure  —  if  the  true  diadem 

Seemed  imminent  while  our  Sordello  drank 

The  wisdom  of  that  goldeu  Palnia,  —  thank 


96      THE  POET  MAY  PAUSE  AND  BREATHE, 

Verona's  Lady  in  her  Citadel 

Founded  by  Gaulish  Brennus,  legends  tell : 

And  truly  when  she  left  him,  the  sun  reared 

A  head  like  the  first  clamberer's  that  peered 

A-top  the  Capitol,  his  face  on  flame 

With  triumph,  triumphing  till  Manlius  came. 

Nor  slight  too  much  my  rhymes  —  that  spring,  dispread 

Dispart,  disperse,  lingering  overhead 

Like  an  escape  of  angels !     Rather  say, 

My  transcendental  platan  !  mounting  gay 

(An  archimage  so  courts  a  novice-queen) 

With  tremulous  silvered  trunk,  whence  branches  sheen 

Laugh  out,  thick-foliaged  next,  a-shiver  soon 

With  colored  buds,  then  glowing  like  the  moon 

One  mild  flame,  —  last  a  pause,  a  burst,  and  all 

Her  ivory  limbs  are  smothered  by  a  fall, 

Bloom-flinders  and  fruit-sparkles  and  leaf-dust, 

Ending  the  weird  work  prosecuted  just 

For  her  amusement ;  he  decrepit,  stark, 

Dozes ;  her  uncontrolled  delight  may  mark 

Apart  — 

Yet  not  so,  surely  never  so ! 
Only,  as  good  my  soul  were  suffered  go 
O'er  the  lagune :  forth  fare  thee,  put  aside 
Entrance  thy  synod,  as  a  god  may  gh'de 
Out  of  the  world  he  fills,  and  leave  it  mute 
For  myriad  ages  as  we  men  compute, 
Returning  into  it  without  a  break 
O'  the  consciousness !     They  sleep,  and  I  awake 
O'er  the  lagune. 


BEING    REALLY   IN    THE    FLESH    AT    VENICE,         97 

Sordello  said  once,  "  Note, 
In  just  such  songs  as  Eglamor  (say)  wrote 
With  heart  and  soul  and  strength,  for  he  believed 
Himself  achieving  all  to  be  achieved 
By  singer  —  in  such  songs  you  find  alone 
Completeness,  judge  the  song  and  singer  one, 
And  cither's  purpose  answered,  his  in  it 
Or  its  in  him :  while  from  true  works  (to  wit 
Sordello's  dream-performances  that  will 
Be  never  more  than  dreamed)  escapes  there  still 
Some  proof,  the  singer's  proper  life  was  'neath 
The  life  his  song  exhibits,  this  a  sheath 
To  that ;  a  passion  and  a  knowledge  far 
Transcending  these,  majestic  as  they  are, 
Smouldered ;  his  lay  was  but  an  episode 
In  the  bard's  life :  which  evidence  you  owed 
To  some  slight  weariness,  some  looking-off 
Or  start-away.     The  childish  skit  or  scoff 
In  "  Charlemagne,"  (his  poem,  dreamed  divine 
In  every  point  except  one  silly  line 
About  the  restiff  daughters !)  —  what  may  lurk 
In  that  ?    '  My  life  commenced  before  that  work, 
(Thus  I  interpret  the  significance 
Of  the  bard's  start  aside  and  look  askance) 
'  My  life  continues  after :  on  I  fare 
With  no  more  stopping,  possibly,  no  care 
To  note  the  undercurrent,  the  why  and  how, 
Where,  when,  of  the  deeper  life,  as  thus  just  now. 
But,  silent,  shall  I  cease  to  live  ?     Alas 

fi  a 


98        AJ*D    WATCHING   HIS    OWN   LIFE   SOMETIMES. 

For  you !  who  sigh, '  When  shall  it  come  to  pass 

We  read  that  story  ?     How  will  he  compress 

The  future  gains,  his  life's  true  business, 

Into  the  better  lay  which  —  that  one  flout, 

Howe'er  inopportune  it  be,  lets  out  — 

Engrosses  him  already,  though  professed 

To  meditate  with  us  eternal  rest, 

And  partnership  in  all  his  life  has  found  ? 

'T  is  but  a  sailor's  promise,  weather-bound : 

'  Strike  sail,  slip  cable,  here  the  bark  be  moored 

For  once,  the  awning  stretched,  the  poles  assured ! 

Noontide  above ;  except  the  wave's  crisp  dash, 

Or  buzz  of  colibri,  or  tortoise'  splash, 

The  margin  's  silent :  out  with  every  spoil 

Made  in  our  tracking,  coil  by  mighty  coil, 

This  serpent  of  a  river  to  his  head 

F  tho  midst !     Admire  each  treasure,  as  we  spread 

The  bank,  to  help  us  tell  our  history 

Aright :  give  ear,  endeavor  to  descry 

The  groves  of  giant  rushes,  how  they  grew 

Like  demons'  endlong  tresses  we  sailed  through, 

What  mountains  yawned,  forests  to  give  us  vent 

Opened,  each  doleful  side,  yet  on  we  went 

Till .  .  .  may  that  beetle  (shake  your  cap)  attest 

The  springing  of  a  land-wind  from  the  West ! ' 

— '  Wherefore  ?     Ah  yes,  you  frolic  it  to-day  J 

To-morrow,  and  the  pageant 's  moved  away 

Down  to  the  poorest  tent-pole :  we  and  you 

Part  company :  no  other  may  pursue 


BECAUSE  IT  IS  PLEASANT  TO  BE  YOUNG,     99 

Eastward  your  voyage,  be  informed  what  fate 
Intends,  if  triumph  or  decline  await 
The  tempter  of  the  everlasting  steppe.' 

I  muse  this  on  a  ruined  palace-step 
At  Venice :  why  should  I  break  off,  nor  sit 
Longer  upon  my  step,  exhaust  the  fit 
England  gave  birth  to  ?     Who 's  adorable 

Enough  reclaim  a no  Sordello's  Will 

Alack !  —  be  queen  to  me  ?     That  Bassanese 
Busied  among  her  smoking  fruit-boats  ?     These 
Perhaps  from  our  delicious  Asolo 
Who  twinkle,  pigeons  o'er  the  portico 
Not  prettier,  bind  June  lilies  into  sheaves 
To  deck  the  bridge-side  chapel,  dropping  leaves 
Soiled  by  their  own  loose  gold-meal  ?     Ah,  beneath 
The  cool  arch  stoops  she,  brownest-cheek !     Her  wreath 
Endures  a  month  —  a  half-month  —  if  I  make 
A  queen  of  her,  continue  for  her  sake 
Sordello's  story  ?     Nay,  that  Paduan  girl 
Splashes  with  barer  legs  where  a  live  whirl 
In  the  dead  black  Giudecca  proves  sea-weed 
Drifting  has  sucked  down  three,  four,  all  indeed 
Save  one  pale-red  striped,  pale-blue  turbaned  post 
For  gondolas. 

You  sad  dishevelled  ghost 
That  pluck  at  me  and  point,  are  you  advised 
[  breathe  ?     Let  stay  those  girls  (e'en  her  disguised 
—  Jewels  in  the  locks  that  love  no  crownet  like 
Their  native  field-buds  and  the  green  wheat  spike, 


100     WOULD    BUT    SUFFERING    HUMAXITT    ALLOW ! 

So  fair  !  —  who  left  this  end  of  June's  turmoil, 

Shook  off,  as  might  a  lily  its  gold  soil, 

Pomp',  save  a  foolish  gem  or  two,  and  free 

In  dream,  came  join  the  peasants  o'er  the  sea.) 

Look  they  too  happy,  too  tricked  out  ?     Confess 

There  is  such  niggard  stock  of  happiness 

To  share,  that,  do  one's  uttermost,  dear  wretch, 

One  labors  ineffectually  to  stretch 

It  o'er  you  so  that  mother  and  children,  both 

May  equitably  flaunt  the  sumpter-cloth ! 

Divide  the  robe  yet  farther :  be  content 

With  seeing  just  a  score  pre-eminent 

Through  shreds  of  it,  acknowledged  happy  wights, 

Engrossing  what  should  furnish  all,  by  rights  — 

For,  these  in  evidence,  you  clearlier  claim 

A  like  garb  for  the  rest,  —  grace  all,  the  same 

As  these  my  peasants.     I  ask  youth  and  strength 

And  health  for  each  of  you,  not  more  —  at  length 

Grown  wise,  who  asked  at  home  that  the  whole  race 

Might  add  the  spirit's  to  the  body's  grace, 

And  all  be  dizened  out  as  chiefs  and  bards. 

But  in  this  magic  weather  one  discards 

Much  old  requirement  —  Venice  seems  a  type 

Of  Life,  —  'twixt  blue  and  blue  extends,  a  stripe, 

As  Life,  the  somewhat,  hangs  'twixt  naught  and  naught 

'T  is  Venice,  and  't  is  Life  —  as  good  you  sought 

To  spare  me  the  Piazza's  slippery  stone, 

Or  keep  me  to  the  unchoked  canals  alone, 

A£  hinder  Life  the  evil  with  the  good 


WHICH   INSTIGATES   TO   TASKS   LIKE  THIS,    101 

WTrich  make  up  Living,  rightly  understood. 
Only,  do  finish  something !     Peasants  or  queens, 
Take  them,  made  happy  by  whatever  means, 
Parade  them  for  the  common  credit,  vouch 
That  a  luckless  residue,  we  send  to  crouch 
In  corners  out  of  sight,  was  just  as  framed 
For  happiness,  its  portion  might  have  claimed 
As  well,  and  so,  obtaining  it,  had  stalked 
Fastuous  as  any !  —  such  my  project,  balked 
Already  ;  I  hardly  venture  to  adjust 
The  first  rags,  when  you  find  me.     To  mistrust 
Me  !  —  nor  unreasonably.     You,  no  doubt, 
Have  the  true  knack  of  tiring  suitors  out 
With  those  thin  lips  on  tremble,  lashless  eyes 
Inveterately  tear-shot  —  there,  be  wise 
Mistress  of  mine,  there,  there,  as  if  I  meant 
You  insult !     Shall  your  friend  (not  slave)  be  shent 
For  speaking  home  ?    Beside,  care-bit,  erased, 
Broken-up  beauties  ever  took  my  taste 
Supremely,  and  I  love  you  more,  far  more 
Than  her  I  looked  should  foot  Life's  temple-floor. 
Years  ago,  leagues  at  distance,  when  and  where 
A  whisper  came,  "  Let  others  seek !  —  thy  care 
Is  found,  thy  life's  provision ;  if  thy  race 
Should  be  thy  mistress,  and  into  one  face 
The  many  faces  crowd  ?  "     Ah,  had  I,  judge, 
Or  no,  your  secret  ?     Rough  apparel  —  grudge 
All  ornaments  save  tag  or  tassel  worn 
To  hint  we  are  not  thoroughly  forlorn  — 


102         AND   DOUBTLESSLY   COMPENSATES   THEM. 

Slouch  bonnet,  unloop  mantle,  careless  go 

Alone  (that 's  saddest  but  it  must  be  so) 

Through  Venice,  sing  now  and  now  glance  aside, 

Aught  desultory  or  undignified,  — 

Then,  ravishingest  lady,  will  you  pass 

Or  not  each  formidable  group,  the  mass 

Before  the  Basilic  (that  feast  gone  by, 

God's  great  day  of  the  Corpus  Domini) 

And,  wistfully  foregoing  proper  men, 

Come  timid  up  to  me  for  alms  ?    And  then 

The  luxury  to  hesitate,  feign  do 

Some  unexampled  grace !  —  when,  whom  but  you 

Dare  I  bestow  your  own  upon  ?     And  here 

Further  before  you  say,  it  is  to  sneer 

I  call  you  ravishing ;  for  I  regret 

Little  that  she,  whose  early  foot  was  set 

Forth  as  she  'd  plant  it  on  a  pedestal, 

Now,  i'  the  silent  city,  seems  to  fall 

Toward  me  —  no  wreath,  only  a  lip's  unrest 

To  quiet,  surcharged  eyelids  to  be  pressed 

Dry  of  their  tears  upon  my  bosom.     Strange 

Such  sad  chance  should  produce  in  thee  such  change, 

My  love  !  warped  souls  and  bodies !  yet  God  spoke 

Of  right-hand,  foot  and  eye  —  selects  our  yoke, 

Sordello,  as  your  poetship  may  find  ! 

So,  sleep  upon  my  shoulder,  child,  nor  mind 

Their  foolish  talk ;  we  '11  manage  reinstate 

Your  old  worth ;  ask  moreover,  when  they  prate 

Of  evil  men  past  hope,  "  don't  each  contrive, 


AS    THOSE   WHO   DESIST   SHOULD   REMEMBER.     103 

Despite  the  evil  you  abuse,  to  live  ?  — 
Keeping,  each  losel,  through  a  maze  of  lies, 
His  own  conceit  of  truth  ?  to  which  he  hies 
By  obscure  windings,  tortuous,  if  you  will, 
But  to  himself  not  inaccessible ; 
He  sees  truth,  and  his  lies  are  for  the  crowd 
Who  cannot  see  ;  some  fancied  right  allowed 
His  vilest  wrong,  empowered  the  fellow  clutch 
One  pleasure  from  a  multitude  of  such 
Denied  him."     Then  assert,  "  all  men  appear 
To  tliink  all  better  than  themselves,  by  here 
Trusting  a  crowd  they  wrong ;  but  really,"  say, 
u  All  men  think  all  men  stupider  than  they, 
Since,  save  themselves,  no  other  comprehends 
The  complicated  scheme  to  make  amends 
—  Evil,  the  scheme  by  which,  thro'  Ignorance, 
Good  labors  to  exist."     A  slight  advance,  — 
Merely  to  find  the  sickness  you  die  through, 
And  naught  beside !  but  if  one  can't  eschew 
One's  portion  in  the  common  lot,  at  least 
One  can  avoid  an  ignorance  increased 
Tenfold  by  dealing  out  hint  after  hint 
How  naught  were  like  dispensing  without  stint 
The  water  of  life  —  so  easy  to  dispense 
Beside,  when  one  has  probed  the  centre  whence 
Commotion  's  born  —  could  tell  you  of  it  all ! 
"  —  Meantime,  just  meditate  my  madrigal 
0'  the  mugwort  that  conceals  a  dew-drop  safe ! " 
VThat,  dullard?  we  and  you  in  smothery  chafe, 


104     LET    THE    POET    TAKE    HIS    OWN    PART,    THEN, 

Babes,  baldheads,  stumbled  thus  far  into  Zin 

The  Horrid,  getting  neither  out  nor  in, 

A  hungry  sun  above  us,  sands  that  bung 

Our  throats,  —  each  dromedary  lolls  a  tongue, 

Each  camel  churns  a  sick  and  frothy  chap, 

And  you,  'twixt  tales  of  Potiphar's  mishap, 

And  sonnets  on  the  earliest  ass  that  spoke, 

—  Remark,  you  wonder  any  one  needs  choke 

With  founts  about !     Potsherd  him,  Gibeonites ! 

While  awkwardly  enough  your  Moses  smites 

The  rock,  though  he  forego  his  Promised  Land, 

Thereby,  have  Satan  claim  his  carcass,  and 

Figure  as  Metaphysic  Poet ...  ah 

Mark  ye  the  dim  first  oozings  ?     Meribah ! 

Then,  quaffing  at  the  fount  my  courage  gained, 

Recall  —  not  that  I  prompt  ye  —  who  explained  . . . 

"  Presumptuous ! "  interrupts  one.     You,  not  I 

'T  is,  brother,  marvel  at  and  magnify 

Such  office :  "  office,"  quotha  ?  can  we  get 

To  the  beginning  of  the  office  yet  ? 

What  do  we  here  ?  simply  experiment 

Each  on  the  other's  power  and  its  intent 

When  elsewhere  tasked,  —  if  this  of  mine  were  trucked 

For  yours  to  cither's  good,  —  we  watch  construct, 

In  short,  an  engine  :  with  a  finished  one, 

What  it  can  do,  is  all,  —  naught,  how  't  is  done. 

But  this  of  ours  yet  in  probation,  dusk 

A  kernel  of  strange  wheelwork  through  its  husk 

Grows  into  shape  by  quarters  and  by  halves  ; 


SHOULD   ANT    OBJECT   THAT   HS    WAS    DULL      105 

Remark  this  tooth's  spring,  wonder  what  that  valve's 
Fall  bodes,  presume  each  faculty's  device, 
Make  out  each  other  more  or  less  precise  — 
The  scope  of  the  whole  engine  's  to  be  proved ; 
We  die  :  which  means  to  say,  the  whole  's  removed, 
Dismounted  wheel  by  wheel,  this  complex  gin,  — 
To  be  set  up  anew  elsewhere,  begin 
A  task  indeed,  but  with  a  clearer  clime 
Than  the  murk  lodgment  of  our  building-time. 
And  then,  I  grant  you,  it  behooves  forget 
How  't  is  done  —  all  that  must  amuse  us  yet 
So  long :  and,  while  you  turn  upon  your  heel, 
Pray  that  I  be  not  busy  slitting  steel 
Or  shredding  brass,  camped  on  some  virgin  shore 
Under  a  cluster  of  fresh  stars,  before 
I  name  a  tithe  o'  the  wheels  I  trust  to  do  ! 
So  occupied,  then,  are  we :  hitherto, 
At  present,  and  a  weary  while  to  come, 
The  office  of  ourselves,  —  nor  blind  nor  dumb, 
And  seeing  somewhat  of  man's  state,  —  has  been, 
For  the  worst  of  us,  to  say  they  so  have  seen ; 
For  the  better,  what  it  was  they  saw ;  the  best 
Impart  the  gift  of  seeing  to  the  rest : 
''  So  that  I  glance,"  says  such  an  one,  "  around, 
And  there  's  no  face  but  I  can  read  profound 
Disclosures  in ;  this  stands  for  hope,  that  —  fear, 
And  for  a  speech,  a  deed  in  proof,  look  here ! 
*  Stoop,  else  the  strings  of  blossom,  where  the  nuts 
,  will  blind  thee !  said  I  not  ?  she  shuts 

5* 


106       BESIDE   HIS    SPRIGHTLIER   PREDECESSORS. 

Both  eyes  this  time,  so  close  the  hazels  meet ! 
Thus,  prisoned  in  the  Piombi,  I  repeat 
Events  one  rove  occasioned,  o'er  and  o'er, 
Putting  'twixt  me  and  madness  evermore 
Thy  sweet  shape,  Zanze !  therefore  stoop  ! ' 

'  That 's  truth  ! 

(Adjudge  you)  '  the  incarcerated  youth 
Would  say  that ! ' 

« Youth  ?  Plara  the  bard  ?  Set  down 
That  Plara  spent  his  youth  in  a  grim  town 
Whose  cramped  ill-featured  streets  huddled  about 
The  minster  for  protection,  never  out 
Of  its  black  belfry's  shade  and  its  bells'  roar. 
The  brighter  shone  the  suburb,  —  all  the  more 
Ugly  and  absolute  that  shade's  reproof 
Of  any  chance  escape  of  joy,  —  some  roof, 
Taller  than  they,  allowed  the  rest  detect 
Before  the  sole  permitted  laugh  (suspect 
Who  could,  'twas  meant  for  laughter,  that  ploughed  check's 
Repulsive  gleam !)  when  the  sun  stopped  both  peaks 
Of  the  cleft  belfry  like  a  fiery  wedge, 
Then  sunk,  a  hugh  flame  on  its  socket's  edge, 
With  leavings  on  the  gray  glass  oriel-pane 
Ghastly  some  minutes  more.     No  feur  of  rain  — 
The  minster  minded  that !  in  heaps  the  dust 
Lay  everywhere.     This  town,  the  minster's  trust, 
Held  Plara  ;  who,  its  denizen,  bade  hail 
In  twice  twelve  sonnets,  Tempe's  dewy  vale.' 
*  Exact  the  town,  the  minster  and  the  street ! ' 


ONE    OUGHT   NOT   BLAMF    BUT   PRAISE    THIS;     107 

'  As  all  mirth  triumphs,  sadness  means  defeat : 
Lust  triumphs  and  is  gay,  Love  'a  triumphed  o'er 
And  sad :  but  Lucio  's  sad.     I  said  before, 
Love's  sad,  not  Lucio ;  one  who  loves  may  be 
As  gay  his  love  has  leave  to  hope,  as  he 
Downcast  that  lusts'  desire  escapes  the  springe : 
T  is  of  the  mood  itself  I  speak,  what  tinge 
Determines  it,  else  colorless,  —  or  mirth, 
Or  melancholy,  as  from  heaven  or  earth.' 

'  Ay,  that 's  the  variation's  gist ! '     Indeed  ? 
Thus  far  advanced  in  safety  then,  proceed  ! 
And  having  seen  too  what  I  saw,  be  bold 
And  next  encounter  what  I  do  behold 
(That 's  sure)  but  bid  you  take  on  trust !     Attack 
The  use  and  purpose  of  such  sights  ?    Alack, 
Not  so  unwisely  does  the  crowd  dispense 
On  Salinguerras  praise  in  preference 
To  the  Sordellos :  men  of  action,  these ! 
Who,  seeing  just  as  little  as  you  please, 
Yet  turn  that  little  to  account,  —  engage 
With,  do  not  gaze  at,  —  carry  on,  a  stage, 
The  work  o'  the  world,  not  merely  make  report 
The  work  existed  ere  their  day !     In  short, 
When  at  some  future  no-time  a  brave  band 
fcjees,  using  what  it  sees,  then  shake  my  hand 
In  heaven,  my  brother  !     Meanwhile  where 's  the  hurt 
Of  keeping  the  Makers-see  on  the  alert, 
At  whose  defection  mortals  stare  aghast 
As  though  heaven's  bounteous  windows  were  slammed  fast 


108     AT    ALL    EVENTS,    HIS    OWN    AUDIENCE    MAY: 

Incontinent  ?  whereas  all  you,  beneath, 

Should  scowl  at,  curse  them,  bruise  lips,  break  their  teeth 

Who  ply  the  pullies,  for  neglecting  you  : 

And  therefore  have  I  moulded,  made  anew 

A  Man,  and  give  him  to  be  turned  and  tried, 

Be  angry  with  or  pleased  at.     On  your  side, 

Have  ye  times,  places,  actors  of  your  own  ? 

Try  them  upon  Sordello  when  full-grown, 

And  then  —  ah  then  !     If  Hercules  first  parched 

His  foot  in  Egypt  only  to  be  marched 

A  sacrifice  for  Jove  with  pomp  to  suit, 

What  chance  have  I  ?     The  demigod  was  mute 

Till,  at  the  altar,  where  time  out  of  mind 

Such  guests  became  oblations,  chaplets  twined 

His  forehead  long  enough,  and  he  began 

Slaying  the  slayers,  nor  escaped  a  man. 

Take  not  affront,  my  gentle  audience !  whom 

No  Hercules  shall  make  his  hecatomb, 

Believe,  nor  from  his  brows  your  chaplet  rend  — 

That 's  your  kind  suffrage,  yours,  my  patron-friend, 

Whose  great  verse  blares  unintermittent  on 

Like  your  own  trumpeter  at  Marathon,  — 

You  who,  Plataeas  and  Salamis  being  scant, 

Put  up  with  JEtna  for  a  stimulant  — 

And  did  well,  I  acknowledged,  as  he  loomed 

Over  the  midland  sea  last  month,  presumed 

Long,  lay  demolished  in  the  blazing  West 

At  eve,  while  towards  him  tilting  cloudlets  prest 

Like  Persian  ships  at  Salamis.     Friend,  wear 


WHAT   IF   THINGS   BRIGHTEN,    WHO    KNOWS?     109 

A.  crest  proud  as  desert  while  I  declare 

Had  I  a  flawless  ruby  fit  to  wring 

Tears  of  its  color  from  that  painted  king 

Who  lost  it,  I  would,  for  that  smile  which  went 

To  my  heart,  fling  it  in  the  sea,  content, 

Wearing  your  verse  in  place,  an  amulet 

Sovereign  against  all  passion,  wear  and  fret ! 

My  English  Eyebright,  if  you  are  not  glad 

That,  as  I  stopped  my  task  awhile,  the  sad 

Disheveled  form,  wherein  I  put  mankind 

To  come  at  times  and  keep  my  pact  in  mind, 

Renewed  me,  —  hear  no  crickets  in  the  hedge, 

Nor  let  a  glowworm  spot  the  river's  edge 

At  home,  and  may  the  summer  showers  gush 

Without  a  warning  from  the  missel  thrush ! 

So,  to  our  business,  now  —  the  fate  of  such 

As  find  our  common  nature  —  overmuch 

Despised  because  restricted  and  unfit 

To  bear  the  burden  they  impose  on  it  — 

Cling  when  they  would  discard  it ;  craving  strength 

To  leap  from  the  allotted  world,  at  length 

They  do  leap,  —  flounder  on  without  a  term, 

Each  a  god's  germ,  doomed  to  remain  a  germ 

In  unexpanded  infancy,  unless  . . . 

But  that 's  the  story  —  dull  enough,  confess ! 

There  might  be  fitter  subjects  to  allure ; 

Still,  neither  misconceive  my  portraiture 

Nor  undervalue  its  adornments  quaint : 

What  seems  a  fiend  perchance  may  prove  a  saint. 


110    WHEREUPON,    WITH   A    STORY   TO    THE   POINT, 

Ponder  a  story  ancient  pens  transmit, 

Then  say  if  you  condemn  me  or  acquit. 

John  the  Beloved,  banished  Antioch 

For  Patmos,  bade  collectively  his  flock 

Farewell,  but  set  apart  the  closing  eve 

To  comfort  those  his  exile  most  would  grieve, 

He  knew :  a  touching  spectacle,  that  house 

In  motion  to  receive  him  !     Xanthus'  spouse 

You  missed,  made  panther's  meat  a  month  since ;  but 

Xanthus  himself  (his  nephew  't  was,  they  shut 

'Twixt  boards  and  sawed  asunder)  Polycarp, 

Soft  Charicle,  next  year  no  wheel  could  warp 

To  swear  by  Caesar's  fortune,  with  the  rest 

Were  ranged  ;  thro'  whom  the  gray  disciple  prest, 

Busily  blessing  right  and  left,  just  stopt 

To  pat  one  infant's  curls,  the  hangman  cropt 

Soon  after,  reached  the  portal  —  on  its  hinge 

The  door  turns  and  he  enters  —  what  quick  twinge 

Ruins  the  smiling  mouth,  those  wide  eyes  fix 

Whereon,  why  like  some  spectral  candlestick's 

Branch  the  disciple's  arms  ?     Dead  swooned  he,  woke 

Anon,  heaved  sigh,  made  shift  to  gasp,  heart-broke, 

"  Get  thee  behind  me,  Satan !  have  I  toiled 

To  no  more  purpose  ?  is  the  gospel  foiled 

Here  too,  and  o'er  my  son's,  my  Xanthus'  hearth, 

Portrayed  with  sooty  garb  and  features  swarth  — 

Ah  Xanthus,  am  I  to  thy  roof  beguiled 

To  see  the  —  the  —  the  Devil  domiciled  ?  " 

Whereto  sobbed  Xanthus,  "  Father,  't  is  yourself 


HE   TAKES   UP   THE   THREAD    OF   DISCOURSE.      Ill 

Installed,  a  limning  which  our  utmost  pelf 

Went  to  procure  against  to-morrow's  loss ; 

And  that 's  no  twy-prong,  but  a  pastoral  cross, 

You  're  painted  with ! "     His  puckered  brows  unfold— 

And  you  shall  hear  Bordello's  story  told. 


BOOK   THE    FOURTH. 

HEN   BUFFERED   MUCH, 

MEANTIME  Ferrara  lay  in  rueful  case ; 

The  lady-city,  for  whose  sole  embrace 

Her  pair  of  suitors  struggled,  felt  their  arms 

A  brawny  mischief  to  the  fragile  charms 

They  tugged  for  —  one  discovering  that  to  twist 

Her  tresses  twice  or  thrice  about  his  wrist 

Secured  a  point  of  vantage  —  one,  how  best 

He  'd  parry  that  by  planting  in  her  breast 

His  elbow-spike  —  each  party  too  intent 

For  noticing,  howe'er  the  battle  went, 

The  conqueror  would  but  have  a  corpse  to  kiss. 

"  May  Boniface  be  duly  damned  for  this ! " 

—  Howled  some  old  Ghibellin,  as  up  he  turned, 
From  the  wet  heap  of  rubbish  where  they  burned 
His  house,  a  little  skull  with  dazzling  teeth : 

"  A  boon,  sweet  Christ  —  let  Salinguerra  seethe 

In  hell  forever,  Christ,  and  let  myself 

Be  there  to  laugh  at  him ! "  —  moaned  some  young  Guelf 

Stumbling  upon  a  shrivelled  hand  nailed  fast 

To  the  charred  lintel  of  the  doorway,  last 

His  father  stood  within  to  bid  him  speed. 

The  thoroughfares  were  overrun  with  weed 

—  Docks,  quitohgrass,  loathly  mallows  no  man  plants. 


WHICHEVER    OF    THE    PARTIES    WAS    VICTOR.       113 

The  stranger,  none  of  its  inhabitants 
Crept  out  of  doors  to  taste  fresh  air  again, 
And  ask  the  purpose  of  a  sumptuous  train 
Admitted  on  a  morning ;  every  town 
Of  the  East  League  was  come  by  envoy  down 
To  treat  for  Richard's  ransom  :  here  you  saw 
The  Vicentine,  here  snowy  oxen  draw 
The  Paduan  carroch,  its  vermilion  cross 
On  its  white  field.     A-tiptoe  o'er  the  fosse 
Looked  Legate  Montelungo' wistfully 
After  the  flock  of  steeples  he  might  spy 
In  Este's  time,  gone  (doubts  he)  long  ago 
To  mend  the  ramparts  —  sure  the  laggards  know 
The  Pope  's  as  good  as  here  !     They  paced  the  streets 
More  soberly.     At  last,  "  Taurello  greets 
The  League,"  announced  a  pursuivant,  —  "  will  match 
Its  courtesy,  and  labors  to  despatch 
At  earliest  Tito,  Friedrich's  Pretor,  sent 
On  pressing  matters  from  his  post  at  Trent, 
With  Mainard  Count  of  Tyrol,  —  simply  waits 
Their  going  to  receive  the  delegates." 
"  Tito ! "     Our  delegates  exchanged  a  glance, 
And,  keeping  the  main  way,  admired  askance 
The  lazy  engines  of  outlandish  birth, 
Couched  like  a  king  each  on  its  bank  of  earth  — 
Arbalist,  manganel,  and  catapult ; 
While  stationed  by,  as  waiting  a  result, 
Lean  silent  gangs  of  mercenaries  ceased 
Working  to  watch  the  strangers.     "  This,  at  least, 


114      HOW   GUELFS    CRITICISE    GHIBELLIN   WORK 

Were  better  spared  ;  he  scarce  presumes  gainsay 
The  League's  decision !     Get  our  friend  away 
And  profit  for  the  future  :  how  else  teach 
Fools  'tis  not  safe  to  stray  within  claw's  reach 
Ere  Salinguerra's  final  gasp  be  blown  ? 
Those  mere  convulsive  scratches  find  the  bone. 
Who  bade  him  bloody  the  spent  osprey's  nare  ?  " 

The  carrochs  halted  in  the  public  square. 
Pennons  of  every  blazon  once  a-flaunt, 
Men  prattled,  freelier  that  the  crested  gaunt 
White  ostrich  with  a  horse-shoe  in  her  beak 
Was  missing,  and  whoever  chose  might  speak 
Ecelin  boldly  out :  so,  —  "  Ecelin 
Needed  his  wife  to  swallow  half  the  sin 
And  sickens  by  himself:  the  Devil's  whelp, 
He  styles  his  son,  dwindles  away,  no  help 
From  conserves,  your  fine  triple-curded  froth 
Of  virgin's  blood,  your  Venice  viper-broth  — 
Eh  ?  Jubilate !     Peace !  no  little  word 
You  utter  here  that 's  not  distinctly  heard 
Up  at  Oliero :  he  was  absent  sick 
When  we  besieged  Bassano  —  who,  i'  the  thick 
0'  the  work,  perceived  the  progress  Azzo  made, 
Like  Ecelin,  through  his  witch  Adelaide? 
She  managed  it  so  well  that,  night  by  night, 
At  their  bed-foot  stood  up  a  soldier-sprite 
First  fresh,  pale  by  and  by  without  a  wound, 
And,  when  it  came  with  eyes  filmed  as  in  swound, 
They  knew  the  place  was  taken.     Ominous 


AS   UNUSUALLY   ENERGETIC    IN   THIS    CASE.       115 

That  Ghibellins  should  get  what  cautelous 

Old  Redbeard  sought  from  Azzo's  sire  to  wrench 

Vainly ;  Saint  George  contrived  his  town  a  trench 

0'  the  marshes,  an  impermeable  bar. 

Young  Ecelin  is  meant  the  tutelar 

Of  Padua,  rather ;  veins  embrace  upon 

His  hand  like  Brenta  and  Bacchiglion. 

WTiat  now  ?    The  founts !     God's  bread,  touch  not  a 

A  crawling  hell  of  carrion  —  every  tank  [plank . 

Choke  full !  —  found  out  just  now  to  Cino's  cost  — 

The  same  who  gave  Taurello  up  for  lost, 

And,  making  no  account  of  fortune's  freaks, 

Refused  to  budge  from  Padua  then,  but  sneaks 

Back  now  with  Concorezzi  —  'faith  !  they  drag 

Their  carroch  to  San  Vital,  plant  the  flag 

On  his  own  palace  so  adroitly  razed 

He  knew  it  not ;  a  sort  of  Guelf  folk  gazed 

And  laughed  apart ;  Cino  disliked  their  air  — 

Must  pluck  up  spirit,  show  he  does  not  care  — 

Seats  himself  on  the  tank's  edge  —  will  begin 

To  hum,  za,  za,  Cavaler  Ecelin  — 

A  silence ;  he  gets  warmer,  clinks  to  chime, 

Now  both  feet  plough  the  ground,  deeper  each  time, 

At  last,  za,  za,  and  up  with  a  fierce  kick 

Comes  his  own  mother's  face  caught  by  the  thick 

Gray  hair  about  his  spur ! " 

Which  means,  they  lift 
The  covering,  Salinguerra  made  a  shift 
To  stretch  upon  the  truth ;  as  well  avoid 


116  HOW,  PASSING  THKOUGH  THE  BARS  GARDEN, 

Further  disclosures  ;  leave  them  thus  employed. 

Our  dropping  Autumn  morning  clears  apace, 

And  poor  Ferrara  puts  a  softened  face 

On  her  misfortunes.     Let  us  scale  this  tall 

Huge  foursquare  line  of  red  brick  garden-wall 

Bastioned  within  hy  trees  of  every  sort 

On  three  sides,  slender,  spreading,  long  and  short, 

—  Each  grew  as  it  contrived,  the  poplar  ramped, 

The  fig-tree  reared  itself,  —  but  stark  and  cramped, 

Made  fools  of,  like  tamed  lions ;  whence,  on  the  edge, 

Running  'twixt  trunk  and  trunk  to  smooth  one  ledge 

Of  shade,  were  shrubs  inserted,  warp  and  woof, 

Which  smothered  up  that  variance.     Scale  the  roof 

Of  solid  tops,  and  o'er  the  slope  you  slide 

Down  to  a  grassy  space  level  and  wide, 

Here  and  there  dotted  with  a  tree,  but  trees 

Of  rarer  leaf,  each  foreigner  at  ease, 

Set  by  itself:  and  in  the  centre  spreads, 

Born  upon  three  uneasy  leopards'  heads, 

A  laver,  broad  and  shallow,  one  bright  spirt 

Of  water  bubbles  in.     The  walls  begirt 

With  trees  leave  off  on  either  hand  ;  pursue 

Your  path  along  a  wondrous  avenue 

Those  walls  abut  on,  heaped  of  gleamy  stone, 

With  aloes  leering  everywhere,  gray-grown 

From  many  a  Moorish  summer  :  how  they  wind 

Out  of  the  fissures  !  likelier  to  bind 

The  building  than  those  rusted  cramps  which  drop 

Already  hi  the  eating  sunshine.     Stop, 


SALINGUERRA    CONTRIVED    FOR    A    PURPOSE,       117 

You  fleeting  shapes  above  there  !     Ah,  the  pride 

Or  else  despair  of  the  whole  country-side  — 

A  range  of  statues,  swarming  o'er  with  wasps, 

God,  goddess,  woman,  man,  the  Greek  rough-rasps 

In  crumbling  Naples  marble  !  meant  to  look 

Like  those  Messina  marbles  Constance  took 

Delight  in,  or  Taurello's  self  conveyed 

To  Mantua  for  his  mistress,  Adelaide, 

A  certain  font  with  caryatides 

Since  cloistered  at  Goito ;  only,  these 

Are  up  and  doing,  not  abashed,  a  troop 

Able  to  right  themselves  —  who  see  you,  stoop 

0'  the  instant  after  you  their  arms !     Unplucked 

By  this  or  that,  you  pass,  for  they  conduct 

To  terrace  raised  on  terrace,  and,  between, 

Creatures  of  brighter  mould  and  braver  mien 

Than  any  yet,  the  choicest  of  the  Isle 

No  doubt     Here,  left  a  sullen  breathing-while, 

Up-gathered  on  himself  the  Fighter  stood 

For  his  last  fight,  and,  wiping  treacherous  blood 

Out  of  the  eyelids  just  held  ope  beneath 

Those  shading  fingers  in  their  iron  sheath, 

Steadied  his  strengths  amid  the  buzz  and  stir 

Of  the  dusk  hideous  amphitheatre 

At  the  announcement  of  his  over-match 

To  wind  the  day's  diversion  up,  despatch 

The  pertinacious  Gaul :  while,  limbs  one  heap, 

The  Slave,  no  breath  in  her  round  mouth,  watched  leap 

Dart  after  dart  forth,  as  her  hero's  car 


118   BORDELLO  PONDERS  ALL  SEEN  AND  HEARD. 

Clove  dizzily  the  solid  of  the  war 
• —  Let  coil  about  his  knees  for  pride  in  him. 
We  reach  the  farthest  terrace,  and  the  grim 
San  Pietro  Palace  stops  us. 

Such  the  state 

Of  Salinguerra's  plan  to  emulate 
Sicilian  marvels,  that  his  girlish  wife 
Retrude  still  might  lead  her  ancient  life 
In  her  new  home  —  whereat  enlarged  so  much 
Neighbors  upon  the  novel  princely  touch 
He  took,  —  who  here  imprisons  Boniface. 
Here  must  the  Envoys  come  to  sue  for  grace  ; 
And  here,  emerging  from  the  labyrinth 
Below,  Sordello  paused  beside  the  plinth 
Of  the  door-pillar. 

He  had  really  left. 

Verona  for  the  cornfields  (a  poor  theft 
From  the  morass)  where  Este's  camp  was  made ; 
The  Envoys'  march,  the  Legate's  cavalcade  — 
All  had  been  seen  by  him,  but  scarce  as  when, 
Eager  for  cause  to  stand  aloof  from  men 
At  every  point  save  the  fantastic  tie 
Acknowledged  in  his  boyish  sophistry, 
He  made  account  of  such.     A  crowd,  —  he  meant 
To  task  the  whole  of  it ;  each  part's  intent 
Concerned  him  therefore :  and,  the  more  he  pried, 
The  less  became  Sordello  satisfied 
With  his  own  figure  at  the  moment.     Sought 
He  respite  from  his  task  ?  descried  he  aught 


FINDS   IN    MEN   NO    MACHINE    FOR   HIS    SAKE,      119 

Novel  in  the  anticipated  sight 

Of  all  these  livers  upon  all  delight  ? 

This  phalanx,  as  of  myriad  points  combined, 

Whereby  he  still  had  imaged  that  mankind 

His  youth  was  passed  in  dreams  of  rivalling, 

His  age  —  in  plans  to  prove  at  least  such  thing 

Had  been  so  dreamed,  —  which  now  he  must  impress 

With  his  own  will,  effect  a  happiness 

By  theirs,  —  supply  a  body  to  his  soul 

Thence,  and  become  eventually  whole 

With  them  as  he  had  hoped  to  be  without  — 

Made  these  the  mankind  he  once  raved  about  ? 

Because  a  few  of  them  were  notable, 

Should  all  be  figured  worthy  note  ?     As  well 

Expect  to  find  Taurello's  triple  line 

Of  trees  a  single  and  prodigious  pine. 

Real  pines  rose  here  and  there ;  but,  close  among, 

Thrust  into  and  mixed  up  with  pines,  a  throng 

Of  shrubs,  he  saw,  —  a  nameless  common  sort 

O'erpast  in  dreams,  left  out  of  the  report 

And  hurried  into  corners,  or  at  best 

Admitted  to  be  fancied  like  the  rest. 

Reckon  that  morning's  proper  chiefs  —  how  few  I 

And  yet  the  people  grew,  the  people  grew, 

Grew  ever,  as  if  the  many  there  indeed, 

More  left  behind  and  most  who  should  succeed,  — 

Simply  in  virtue  of  their  mouths  and  eyes, 

Petty  enjoyments  and  huge  miseries,  — 

Mingled  with,  and  made  veritably  great 


120       BUT    A    THING    WITH    A    LITE    OF   ITS    OWN, 

Those  chiefs :  he  overlooked  not  Mainard's  state 

Nor  Concorezzi's  station,  but  instead 

Of  stopping  there,  each  dwindled  to  be  head 

Of  infinite  and  absent  Tyrolese 

Or  Paduans ;  startling  all  the  more,  that  these 

Seemed  passive  and  disposed  of,  uncared  for, 

'*  Yet  doubtless  on  the  whole  "  (quoth  Eglamor) 

'*  Smiling  —  for  if  a  wealthy  man  decays 

And  out  of  store  of  robes  must  wear,  all  days, 

One  tattered  suit,  alike  in  sun  and  shade, 

'T  is  commonly  some  tarnished  gay  brocade 

Fit  for  a  feast-night's  flourish  and  no  more  : 

Nor  otherwise  poor  Misery  from  her  store 

Of  looks  is  fain  to  upgather,  keep  unfurled 

For  common  wear  as  she  goes  through  the  world, 

The  faint  remainder  of  some  worn-out  smile 

Meant  for  a  feast-night's  service  merely."     While 

Crowd  upon  crowd  rose  on  Sordello  thus,  — 

(Crowds  no  way  interfering  to  discuss, 

Much  less  dispute,  life's  joys  with  one  employed 

In  envying  them,  —  or,  if  they  aught  enjoyed, 

Where  lingered  something  indefinable 

In  every  look  and  tone,  the  mirth  as  well 

As  woe,  that  fixed  at  once  his  estimate 

Of  the  result,  their  good  or  bad  estate)  — 

Old  memories  returned  with  new  effect : 

And  the  new  body,  ^re  he  could  suspect, 

Cohered,  mankind  and  he  were  really  fused, 

The  new  self  seemed  impatient  to  be  used 


AND    RIGHTS    HITHEBTO    IGNORED    BY    HIM, 

By  him,  but  utterly  another  way 
To  that  anticipated :  strange  to  say, 
They  were  too  much  below  him,  more  in  thrall 
Than  he,  the  adjunct  than  the  principal. 
What  booted  scattered  units  ?  —  here  a  mind 
And  there,  which  might  repay  his  own  to  find, 
And  stamp,  and  use  ?  —  a  few,  howe'er  august, 
If  all  the  rest  were  grovelling  in  the  dust  ? 
No :  first  a  mighty  equilibrium,  sure, 
Should  he  establish,  privilege  procure 
For  all,  the  few  had  long  possessed !  he  felt 
An  error,  an  exceeding  error  melt  — 
While  he  was  occupied  with  Mantuan  chants, 
Behooved  him  think  of  men,  and  take  their  wanti, 
Such  as  he  now  distinguished  every  side, 
As  his  own  want  which  might  be  satisfied,  — 
And,  after  that,  think  of  rare  qualities 
Of  bis  own  soul  demanding  exercise. 
It  followed  naturally,  through  no  claim 
On  their  part,  which  made  virtue  of  the  aim 
At  serving  them,  on  his,  —  that,  past  retrieve, 
He  felt  now  in  their  toils,  theirs  —  nor  could  leave 
Wonder  how,  in  the  eagerness  to  rule, 
Impress  his  will  on  mankind,  he  (the  fool !) 
Had  never  even  entertained  the  thought 
That  this  his  last  arrangement  might  be  fraught 
With  incidental  good  to  them  as  well, 
And  that  mankind's  delight  would  help  to  swell 
His  own.     So,  if  he  sighed,  as  formerly 
6 


121 


122   A   FAULT   HE    IS   NOVT  ANXIOUS    TO   REPAIR, 

Because  the  merry  time  of  life  must  fleet, 

T  was  deeplier  now,  —  for  could  the  crowds  repeat 

Their  poor  experiences  ?     His  hand  that  shook 

Was  twice  to  be  deplored.     "  The  Legate,  look  ! 

With  eyes,  like  fresh-blown  thrush-eggs  on  a  thread, 

Faint-blue  and  loosely  floating  in  his  head, 

Large  tongue,  moist  open  mouth  ;  and  this  long  while 

That  owner  of  the  idiotic  smile 

Serves  them ! "     He  fortunately  saw  in  time 

His  fault  however,  and  since  the  office  prime 

Includes  the  secondary  —  best  accept 

Both  offices ;  Taurello,  its  adept, 

Could  teach  him  the  preparatory  one, 

And  how  to  do  what  he  had  fancied  done 

Long  previously,  ere  take  the  greater  task. 

How  render  first  these  people  happy  ?  ask 

The  people's  friends :  for  there  must  be  one  good, 

One  way  to  it  —  the  Cause !  —  he  understood 

The  meaning  now  of  Palma  ;  why  the  jar 

Else,  the  ado,  the  trouble  wide  and  far 

Of  Guelfs  and  Ghibellins,  the  Lombard's  hope 

And  Rome's  despair  ?  —  'twixt  Emperor  and  Pope 

The  confused  shifting  sort  of  Eden  tale  — 

Still  hardihood  recurring,  still  to  fail  — 

That  foreign  interloping  fiend,  this  free 

And  native  overbrooding  deity  — 

Yet  a  dire  fascination  o'er  t lie  palms 

The  Kaiser  ruined,  troubling  even  the  calms 

Of  Paradise  —  or,  on  the  other  hand, 


SINCE    HE   APPREHENDS    ITS    FULL    EXTENT,       123 

fie  Pontiff,  as  the  Kaisers  understand, 

One  snake-like  cursed  of  God  to  love  the  ground, 

Whose  heavy  length  breaks  in  the  noon  profound 

Some  saving  tree  —  which  needs  the  Kaiser,  drest 

As  the  dislodging  angel  of  that  pest, 

Then  —  yet  that  pest  bedropt,  flat  head,  full  fold, 

With  coruscating  dower  of  dyes.     "  Behold 

The  secret,  so  to  speak,  and  master-spring 

Of  the  contest !  which  of  the  two  Powers  shall  bring 

Men  good  —  perchance  the  most  good  —  ay,  it  may 

Be  that !  the  question,  which  best  knows  the  way." 

And  hereupon  Count  Mainard  strutted  past 
Out  of  San  Pietro ;  never  seemed  the  last 
Of  archers,  slingers :  and  our  friend  began 
To  recollect  strange  modes  of  serving  man  — 
Arbalist,  catapult,  brake,  manganel, 
.And  more.     "  This  way  of  theirs  may,  —  who  can  tell  ? — 
Need  perfecting,"  said  he :  "  let  all  be  solved 
At  once !  Taurello  't  is,  the  task  devolved 
On  late  —  confront  Taurello ! " 

And  at  last 

He  did  confront  him.     Scarcely  an  hour  past 
When  forth  Sordello  came,  older  by  years 
Than  at  his  entry.     Unexampled  fears 
Oppressed  him,  and  he  staggered  off,  blind,  mute 
And  deaf,  like  some  fresh-mutilated  brute, 
Into  Ferrara  —  not  the  empty  town 
That  morning  witnessed :  he  went  up  and  down 
Streets  whence  the  veil  had  been  stripped  shred  by  shred 


124     AND    WOULD    FAIN    HAVE    HELPED    SOME    WAT, 

So  that,  in  place  of  huddling  with  their  dead 

Indoors,  to  answer  Salinguerra's  ends, 

Its  folk  made  shift  to  crawl  forth,  sit  like  friends 

With  any  one.     A  woman  gave  him  choice 

Of  her  two  daughters,  the  infantile  voice 

Or  the  dimpled  knee,  for  half  a  chain,  his  throat 

Was  clasped  with ;  but  an  archer  knew  the  coat  — 

Its  blue  cross  and  eight  lilies,  —  bade  beware 

One  dogging  him  hi  concert  with  the  pair 

Though  thrumming  on  the  sleeve  that  hid  his  knife. 

Night  set  in  early,  autumn  dews  were  rife, 

They  kindled  great  fires  while  the  Leaguer's  mass 

Began  at  every  carroch  —  he  must  pass 

Between  the  kneeling  people.     Presently 

The  carroch  of  Verona  caught  his  eye 

With  purple  trappings  ;  silently  he  bent 

Over  its  fire,  when  voices  violent 

Began,  "  Affirm  not  whom  the  youth  was  like 

That,  striking  from  the  porch,  I  did  not  strike 

Again ;  I  too  have  chestnut  hair ;  my  kin 

Hate  Azzo  and  stand  up  for  Ecelin. 

Here,  minstrel,  drive  bad  thoughts  away  !  sing !  take 

My  glove  for  guerdon ! "  and  for  that  man's  sake 

He  turned :  "  A  song  of  Eglamor's ! "  —  scarce  named, 

When,  "  Our  Sordello's,  rather !  "  all  exclaimed  ; 

w  Is  not  Sordello  famousest  for  rhyme  ?  " 

He  had  been  happy  to  deny,  this  time,  — 

Profess  as  heretofore  the  aching  head 

And  failing  heart,  —  suspect  that  in  his  stead 


BUT   SALINGUERRA   IS   ALSO   FEE-OCCUPIED;     125 

Some  true  Apollo  had  the  charge  of  them, 

Was  champion  to  reward  or  to  condemn, 

So  his  intolerable  risk  might  shift 

Or  share  itself;  but  Naddo's  precious  gift 

Of  gifts,  he  owned,  be  certain  !     At  the  close  — 

u  I  made  that,"  said  he  to  a  youth  who  rose 

As  if  to  hear :  't  was  Palma  through  the  band 

Conducted  him  in  silence  by  her  hand. 

Back  now  for  Salinguerra.     Tito  of  Trent 
Gave  place  to  Palma  and  her  friend ;  who  went 
In  turn  at  Montelungo's  visit  —  one 
After  the  other  were  they  come  and  gone,  — 
These  spokesmen  for  the  Kaiser  and  the  Pope, 
This  incarnation  of  the  People's  hope, 
Sordello,  —  all  the  say  of  each  was  said, 
And  Salinguerra  sat,  himself  instead 
Of  these  to  talk  with,  lingered  musing  yet. 
T  was  a  drear  vast  presence-chamber  roughly  set 
In  order  for  the  morning's  use  ;  full  face, 
The  Kaiser's  ominous  sign-mark  had  first  place, 
The  crowned  grim  twy-necked  eagle,  coarsely  blacked 
With  ochre  on  the  naked  wall ;  nor  lacked 
Romano's  green  and  yellow  either  side ; 
But  the  new  token  Tito  brought  had  tried 
The  Legate's  patience  —  nay,  if  Palma  knew 
What  Salinguerra  almost  meant  to  do 
Until  the  sight  of  her  restored  his  lip 
A.  certain  half-smile,  three  months'  chieftainship 
Had  banished !    Afterward,  the  Legate  found 


126      RESEMBLING    SORDELLO    IN    NOTHING    ELSE. 

No  change  in  him,  nor  asked  what  badge  he  wound 

And  unwound  carelessly.     Now  sat  the  Chief 

Silent  as  when  our  couple  left,  whose  brief 

Encounter  wrought  so  opportune  effect 

In  thoughts  he  summoned  not,  nor  would  reject. 

Though  time  't  was  now  if  ever,  to  pause  —  fix 

On  any  sort  of  ending :  wiles  and  tricks 

Exhausted,  judge !  his  charge,  the  crazy  town, 

Just  managed  to  be  hindered  crashing  down  — 

His  last  sound  troops  ranged  —  care  observed  to  post 

His  best  of  the  maimed  soldiers  innermost  — 

So  much  was  plain  enough,  but  somehow  struck 

Him  not  before.     And  now  with  this  strange  luck 

Of  Tito's  news,  rewarding  his  address 

So  well,  what  thought  he  of?  —  how  the  success 

With  Friedrich's  rescript  there,  would  either  hush 

Old  Ecelin's  scruples,  bring  the  manly  flush 

To  his  young  son's  white  cheek,  or,  last,  exempt 

Himself  from  telling  what  there  was  to  tempt  ? 

No :  that  this  minstrel  was  Romano's  last 

Servant  —  himself  the  first !     Could  he  contrast 

The  whole !  that  minstrel's  thirty  years  just  spent 

In  doing  naught,  their  notablest  event 

This  morning's  journey  hither,  as  I  told  — 

Who  yet  was  lean,  outworn  and  really  old, 

A  stammering  awkward  man  that  scarce  dared  raise 

His  eye  before  the  magisterial  gaze  — 

And  Salinguerra  with  his  fears  and  hopes 

Of  sixty  years,  his  Emperors  and  Popes, 


HOW   HE   WAS   MADE   IN   BODY   AND    SPIRIT,      127 

dares  and  contrivances,  yet,  you  would  say, 

T  was  a  youth  nonchalantly  looked  away 

Through  the  embrasure  northward  o'er  the  sick 

Expostulating  trees  —  so  agile,  quick 

And  graceful  turned  the  head  on  the  broad  chest 

Encased  in  pliant  steel,  his  constant  vest. 

Whence  split  the  sun  off  in  a  spray  of  fire 

Across  the  room ;  and,  loosened  of  its  tire 

Of  steel,  that  head  let  breathe  the  comely  brown 

Large  massive  locks  discolored  as  if  a  crown 

Encircled  them,  so  frayed  the  basnet  where 

A  sharp  white  line  divided  clean  the  hair ; 

Glossy  above,  glossy  below,  it  swept 

Curling  and  fine  about  a  brow  thus  kept 

Calm,  laid  coat  upon  coat,  marble  and  sound : 

This  was  the  mystic  mark  the  Tuscan  found, 

Mused  of,  turned  over  books  about.     Square-faced, 

No  lion  more ;  two  vivid  eyes,  enchased 

In  hollows  filled  with  many  a  shade  and  streak 

Settling  from  the  bold  nose  and  bearded  cheek ; 

Nor  might  the  half-smile  reach  them  that  deformed 

A  lip  supremely  perfect  else  —  unwarmed, 

Unwidened,  less  or  more ;  indifferent 

Whether  on  trees  or  men  his  thoughts  were  bent, 

Thoughts  rarely,  after  all,  in  trim  and  train     _ 

As  now  a  period  was  fulfilled  again ; 

Of  such,  a  series  made  his  life,  compressed 

In  each,  one  story  serving  for  the  rest  — 

How  his  life-streams  rolling  arrived  at  last 


128      AND    WHAT   HAD    BEEN   HIS    CAREER   OP   OLD. 

At  the  barrier,  whence,  were  it  once  overpast, 

They  would  emerge,  a  river  io  the  end,  — 

Gathered  themselves  up,  paused,  bade  fate  befriend, 

Took  the  leap,  hung  a  minute  at  the  height, 

Then  fell  back  to  oblivion  infinite : 

Therefore  he  smiled.     Beyond  stretched  garden-ground! 

Where  late  the  adversary,  breaking  bounds, 

Had  gained  him  an  occasion,  That  above, 

That  eagle,  testified  he  could  improve 

Effectually.     The  Kaiser's  symbol  lay 

Beside  his  rescript,  a  new  badge  by  way 

Of  baldric ;  while,  —  another  thing  that  marred 

Alike  emprise,  achievement  and  reward,  — 

Ecelin's  missive  was  conspicuous  too. 

What  past  life  did  those  flying  thoughts  pursue  ? 
As  his,  few  names  in  Mantua  half  so  old ; 
But  at  Ferrara,  where  his  sires  enrolled 
It  latterly,  the  Adelardi  spared 
No  pains  to  rival  them :  both  factions  shared 
Ferrara,  so  that,  counted  out,  't  would  yield 
A  product  very  like  the  city's  shield, 
Half  black  and  white,  or  Ghibellin  and  Guelf, 
..is  after  Salinguerra  styled  himself 
And  Este  who,  till  Marchesalla  died, 
(Last  of  the  Adelardi)  —  never  tried 
His  fortune  there :  with  Marchesalla's  child 
Would  pass,  —  could  Blacks  and  Whites  be  reconciled 
And  young  Taurello  wed  Linguetta,  —  wealth 
And  sway  to  a  sole  grasp.     Each  treats  by  stealth 


THE    ORIGINAL    CHECK   TO   HIS    FORTUNES,        129 

Already :  when  the  Guelfs,  the  Ravennese 
Arrive,  assault  the  Pietro  quarter,  seize 
Linguetta,  and  are  gone !     Men's  first  dismay 
Abated  somewhat,  hurries  down,  to  lay 
The  after  indignation,  Boniface, 
This  Richard's  father.     "  Learn  the  full  disgrace 
Averted,  ere  you  blame  us  Guelfs,  who  rate 
Your  Salinguerra,  your  sole  potentate 
That  might  have  been,  'mongst  Este's  valvassore  — 
Ay,  Azzo's  —  who,  not  privy  to,  abhors 
Our  step  —  but  we  were  zealous."     Azzo  's  then 
To  do  with !'    Straight  a  meeting  of  old  men : 
"  Old  Salinguerra  dead,  his  heir  a  boy, 
What  if  we  change  our  ruler  and  decoy 
The  Lombard  Eagle  of  the  azure  sphere, 
With  Italy  to  build  in,  fix  him  here, 
Settle  the  city's  troubles  in  a  trice  ? 
For  private  wrong,  let  public  good  suffice ! " 
In  fine,  young  Salinguerra's  stanchest  friends 
Talked  of  the  townsmen  making  him  amends, 
Gave  him  a  goshawk,  and  affirmed  there  was 
Rare  sport,  one  morning,  over  the  green  grass 
A  mile  or  so.     He  sauntered  through  the  plain, 
Was  restless,  fell  to  thinking,  turned  again 
In  time  for  Azzo's  entry  with  the  bride  ; 
Count  Boniface  rode  smirking  at  their  side  : 
"  She  bring?  him  half  Ferrara,"  whispers  flew, 
1  And  all  Ancona !     If  the  stripling  knew ! " 
Anon  the  stripling  was  in  Sicily 

6#  , 


130      WHICH   HE    WAS    IK   THE    WAY    TO    RETRIEVE, 

Where  Heinrich  ruled  in  right  of  Constance ;  he 

Was  gracious  nor  his  guest  incapable ; 

Each  understood  the  other.     So  it  fell, 

One  Spring,  when  Azzo,  thoroughly  at  ease, 

Had  near  forgotten  by  what  precise  degrees 

He  crept  at  first  to  such  a  downy  seat, 

The  Count  trudged  over  in  a  special  heat 

To  bid  him  of  God's  love  dislodge  from  each 

Of  Salmguerra's  palaces,  —  a  breach 

Might  yawn  else,  not  so  readily  to  shut, 

For  who  was  just  arrived  at  Mantua  but 

The  youngster,  sword  on  thigh,  and  tuft  on  chin, 

With  tokens  for  Celano,  Ecelin, 

Pistore  and  the  like !     Next  news,  —  no  whit 

Do  any  of  Ferrara's  domes  befit 

His  wife  of  Heinrich's  very  blood :  a  band 

Of  foreigners  assemble,  understand 

Garden-constructing,  level  and  surround, 

Build  up  and  buiy  in.     A  last  news  crowned 

The  consternation :  since  his  infant's  birth, 

He  only  waits  they  end  his  wondrous  girth 

Of  trees  that  link  San  Pietro  with  Toma, 

To  visit  Mantua.     "When  the  Podesta 

Ecelin,  at  Vicenza,  called  his  friend 

Taurello  thither,  what  could  be  their  end 

But  to  restore  the  Ghibellins'  late  Head, 

The  Kaiser  helping  ?     He  with  most  to  dread 

From  vengeance  and  reprisal,  Azzo,  there 

With  Boniface  beforehand,  as  aware 


WHEN   A    FRESH   CALAMITY   DESTROYED   ALL.       181 

Of  plots  in  progress,  gave  alarm,  expelled 

Both  plotters :  but  the  Guelfs  in  triumph  yelled 

Too  hastily.     The  burning  and  the  flight, 

And  how  Taurello,  occupied  that  night 

With  Ecelin,  lost  wife  and  son,  I  told : 

—  Not  how  he  bore  the  blow,  retained  his  hold, 

Got  friends  safe  through,  left  enemies  the  worst 

0'  the  fray,  and  hardly  seemed  to  care  at  first — 

But  afterward  men  heard  not  constantly 

Of  Salinguerra's  House  so  sure  to  be ! 

Though  Azzo  simply  gained  by  the  event 

A  shifting  of  his  plagues  —  the  first,  content 

To  fall  behind  the  second  and  estrange 

So  far  his  nature,  suffer  such  a  change 

That  in  Romano  sought  he  wife  and  child, 

And  for  Romano's  sake  seemed  reconciled 

To  losing  individual  life,  which  shrunk 

As  the  other  prospered  —  mortised  in  his  trunk ; 

Like  a  dwarf  palm  which  wanton  Arabs  foil 

Of  bearing  its  own  proper  wine  and  oil, 

By  grafting  into  it  the  stranger-vine, 

Which  sucks  its  heart  out,  sly  and  serpentine, 

Till  forth  one  vine-palm  feathers  to  the  root, 

And  red  drops  moisten  the  insipid  fruit. 

Once  Adelaide  set  on,  —  the  subtle  mate 

Of  the  weak  soldier,  urged  to  emulate 

The  Church's  valiant  women  deed  for  deed, 

And  paragon  her  namesake,  win  the  meed 

Of  the  great  Matilda,  —  soon  they  overbore 


132      HE    SANK   INTO    A    SECONDARY   PERSONAGE, 

The  rest  of  Lombardy,  —  not  as  before 

By  an  instinctive  truculence,  but  patched 

The  Kaiser's  strategy  until  it  matched 

The  Pontiff's,  sought  old  ends  by  novel  means. 

"  Only,  why  is  it  Salinguerra  screens 

Himself  behind  Romano  ?  —  him  we  bade 

Enjoy  our  shine  i'  the  front,  not  seek  the  shade  1 " 

—  Asked  Heinrich,  somewhat  of  the  tardiest 
To  comprehend.     Nor  Philip  acquiesced 
At  once  in  the  arrangement ;  reasoned,  plied 
His  friend  with  offers  of  another  bride, 

A  statelier  function  —  fruitlessly :  't  was  plain 
Taurello  through  some  weakness  must  remain 
Obscure.  And  Otho,  free  to  judge  of  both, 

—  Ecelin  the  unready,  harsh  and  loath, 
And  this  more  plausible  and  facile  wight 
With  every  point  a-sparkle  —  chose  the  right, 
Admiring  how  his  predecessors  harped 

On  the  wrong  man :   "  thus,"  quoth  he,  "  wits  are 

warped 

By  outsides  ! "     Carelessly,  meanwhile,  his  life 
Suffered  its  many  turns  of  peace  and  strife 
In  many  lands  —  you  hardly  could  surprise 
The  man ;  —  who  shamed  Sordello  (recognize !) 
In  this  as  much  beside,  that,  unconcerned 
What  qualities  were  natural  or  earned, 
With  no  ideal  of  graces,  as  they  came 
He  took  them,  singularly  well  the  same  — 
Speaking  the  Greek's  own  language,  just  because 


WITH   THE   APPROPRIATE    GRACES    OF    SUCH.      133 

Your  Greek  eludes  you,  leave  the  least  of  flaws 

In  contracts  with  him ;  while,  since  Arab  lore 

Holds  the  stars'  secret  —  take  one  trouble  more 

And  master  it !     'T  is  done,  and  now  deter 

Who  may  the  Tuscan,  once  Jove  trined  for  her, 

From  Friedrich's  path !  —  Friedrich,  whose  pilgrimage 

The  same  man  puts  aside,  whom  he  '11  engage 

To  leave  next  year  John  Brienne  in  the  lurch, 

Come  to  Bassano,  see  Saint  Francis'  church 

And  judge  of  Guido  the  Bolognian's  piece 

Which,  lend  Taurello  credit,  rivals  Greece  — 

Angels,  with  aureoles  like  golden  quoits 

Pitched  home,  applauding  Ecelin's  exploits. 

For  elegance,  he  strung  the  angelot, 

Made  rhymes  thereto  ;  for  prowess,  clove  he  not 

Tiso,  last  siege,  from  crest  to  crupper  ?     Why 

Detail  you  thus  a  varied  mastery 

But  to  show  how  Taurello,  on  the  watch 

For  men,  to  read  their  hearts  and  thereby  catch 

Their  capabilities  and  purposes, 

Displayed  himself  so  far  as  displayed  these : 

While  our  Sordello  only  cared  to  know 

About  men  as  a  means  whereby  he  'd  show 

Himself,  and  men  had  much  or  little  worth 

According  as  they  kept  in  or  drew  forth 

That  self;  Taurello's  choicest  instruments 

Surmised  him  shallow. 

Meantime,  malecontents 
Dropped  off,  town  after  town  grew  wiser.    u  How 


134       BUT   ECELIN,    HE    SET   IN    FRONT,    FALLING, 

Change  the  world's  face  ?  "  asked  people ;  "  as  't  is  now 

It  has  been,  will  be  ever :  very  fine 

Subjecting  things  profane  to  things  divine, 

In  talk !  this  contumacy  will  fatigue 

The  vigilance  of  Este  and  the  League ! 

The  Ghibellins  gain  on  us  ! "  —  as  it  happed. 

Old  Azzo  and  old  Boniface,  entrapped 

By  Ponte  Alto,  both  hi  one  month's  space 

Slept  at  Verona :  either  left  a  brace 

Of  sons  —  but,  three  years  after,  either's  pair 

Lost  Guglielm  and  Aldobrand  its  heir : 

Azzo  remained  and  Richard  —  all  the  stay 

Of  Este  and  Saint  Boniface,  at  bay 

As  't  were.     Then,  either  Ecelin  grew  old 

Or  his  brain  altered  —  not  of  the  proper  mould 

For  new  appliances  —  his  old  palm-stock 

Endured  no  influx  of  strange  strengths.     He  'd  rock 

As  in  a  drunkenness,  or  chuckle  low 

As  proud  of  the  completeness  of  his  woe, 

Then  weep  real  tears ;  —  now  make  some  mad  onslaught 

On  Este,  heedless  of  the  lesson  taught 

So  painfully,  —  now  cringe  for  peace,  sue  peace 

At  price  of  past  gain,  —  much  more,  fresh  increase 

To  the  fortunes  of  Romano.     Up  at  last 

Rose  Este,  down  Romano  sank  as  fast. 

And  men  remarked  these  freaks  of  peace  and  war 

Happened  while  Salinguerra  was  afar : 

Whence  every  friend  besought  him,  all  in  vain, 

To  use  his  old  adherent's  wits  again. 


8ALINGUERRA   MUST   AGAIN    COME    FORWARD,       135 

Not  he !  —  "  who  had  advisers  in  his  sons, 

Could  plot  himself,  nor  needed  any  one's 

Advice."     'T  was  Adelaide's  remaining  stanch 

Prevented  his  destruction  root  and  branch 

Forthwith ;  but  when  she  died,  doom  fell,  for  gay 

He  made  alliances,  gave  lands  away 

To  whom  it  pleased  accept  them,  and  withdrew 

Forever  from  the  world.     Taurello,  who 

Was  summoned  to  the  convent,  then  refused 

A  word  at  the  wicket,  patience  thus  abused, 

Promptly  threw  off  alike  his  imbecile 

Ally's  yoke,  and  his  own  frank,  foolish  smile. 

Soon  a  few  movements  of  the  happier  sort 

Changed  matters,  put  himself  in  men's  report 

As  heretofore ;  he  had  to  fight,  beside, 

And  that  became  him  ever.     So,  in  pride 

And  flushing  of  this  kind  of  second  youth, 

He  dealt  a  good-will  blow.     Este  in  truth 

Lay  prone  —  and  men  remembered,  somewhat  late, 

A  laughing  old  outrageous  stifled  hate 

He  bore  to  Este  —  how  it  would  outbreak 

At  times  spite  of  disguise,  like  an  earthquake 

In  sunny  weather  —  as  that  noted  day 

When  with  his  hundred  friends  he  tried  to  slay 

Azzo  before  the  Kaiser's  face :  and  how, 

On  Azzo's  calm  refusal  to  allow 

A  liegeman's  challenge,  straight  he  too  was  calmed 

As  if  his  hate  could  bear  to  lie  embalmed, 

Bricked  up,  the  moody  Pharaoh,  and  survive 


136   — WHY   AND    HOW,   IS    LET    ODT    IN    SOLILOQUY. 

All  intermediate  crumblings,  and  arrive 

At  earth's  catastrophe  —  't  was  Este's  crash 

Not  Azzo's  he  demanded,  so,  no  rash 

Procedure !     Este's  true  antagonist 

Rose  out  of  Ecelin :  all  voices  whist, 

All  eyes  were  sharpened,  wits  predicted.     He 

T  was,  leaned  in  the  embrasure  absently, 

Amused  with  his  own  efforts,  now,  to  trace 

With  his  steel-sheathed  forefinger  Friedrich's  face 

F  the  dust :  but  as  the  trees  waved  sere,  his  smile 

Deepened,  and  words  expressed  its  thought  erewhile, 

"  Ay,  fairly  housed  at  last,  my  old  compeer  ? 
That  we  should  stick  together,  all  the  year, 
I  kept  Verona !  —  How  old  Boniface, 
Old  Azzo  caught  us  in  its  market-place, 
He  by  that  pillar,  I  at  this,  —  caught  each 
In  mid  swing,  more  than  fury  of  his  speech, 
Egging  the  rabble  on  to  disavow 
Allegiance  to  their  Marquis  —  Bacchus,  how 
They  boasted !  Ecelin  must  turn  their  drudge, 
Nor,  if  released,  will  Salinguerra  grudge 
Paying  arrears  of  tribute  due  long  since  — 
Bacchus !     My  man,  could  promise  then,  nor  wince, 
The  bones-and-muscles  !  sound  of  wind  and  limb, 
Spoke  he  the  set  excuse  I  framed  for  him : 
And  now  he  sits  me,  slavering  and  mute, 
Intent  on  chafing  each  starved  purple  foot 
Benumbed  past  aching  with  the  altar  slab  — 
Will  no  vein  throb  there  when  some  monk  shall  blab 


ECELIN,    HE   PID   ALL    FOR,    IS   A    MONK   NOW,    137 

Spitefully  to  the  circle  of  bald  scalps, 

'  Friedrich  's  affirmed  to  be  our  side  the  Alps ' 

—  Eh,  brother  Lactance,  brother  Anaclet  ? 

Sworn  to  abjure  the  world,  its  fume  and  fret, 

God's  own  now  ?     Drop  the  dormitory  bar, 

Enfold  the  scanty  gray  serge  scapular 

Twice  o'er  the  cowl  to  muffle  memories  out  — 

So !  but  the  midnight  whisper  turns  a  shout, 

Eyes  wink,  mouths  open,  pulses  circulate 

In  the  stone  walls :  the  Past,  the  world  you  hate 

Is  with  you,  ambush,  open  field  —  or  see 

The  surging  flame  —  we  fire  Vicenza  —  glee ! 

Follow,  let  Pilio  and  Bernardo  chafe  — 

Bring  up  the  Mantuans  —  through  San  Biagio  —  safe  1 

Ah,  the  mad  people  waken  ?    Ah,  they  writhe 

And  reach  us  ?  if  they  block  the  gate  —  no  tithe 

Can  pass  —  keep  back,  you  Bassanese !  the  edge, 

Use  the  edge  —  shear,  thrust,  hew,  melt  down  the 

wedge, 

Let  out  the  black  of  those  black  upturned  eyes ! 
Hell  —  are  they  sprinkling  fire  too  ?  the  blood  fries 
And  hisses  on  your  brass  gloves  as  they  tear 
Those  upturned  faces  choking  with  despair. 
Brave  !  Slidder  through  the  reeking  gate  — '  how  now  ? 
You  six  had  charge  of  her  ? '     And  then  the  vow 
Comes,  and  the  foam  spirts,  hair 's  plucked,  till  one 

shriek 

(I  hear  it)  and  you  fling  —  you  cannot  speak  — 
Your  gold-flowered  basnet  to  a  man  who  haled 


138       JUST    WHEN    THE    PRIZE    AWAITS    SOMEBODY 

The  Adelaide  he  dared  scarce  view  unveiled 
This  morn,  naked  across  the  fire :  how  crown 
The  archer  that  exhausted  lays  you  down 
Your  infant,  smiling  at  the  flame,  and  dies  ? 
While  one,  while  mine  .  . . 

Bacchus !  I  think  there  liea 

More  than  one  corpse  there  "  (and  he  paced  the  room) 
"  —  Another  cinder  somewhere  —  't  was  my  doom 
Beside,  my  doom !     If  Adelaide  is  dead 
I  am  the  same,  this  Azzo  lives  instead 
Of  that  to  me,  and  we  pull,  any  how, 
Este  into  a  heap  —  the  matter 's  now 
At  the  true  juncture  slipping  us  so  oft. 
Ay,  Heinrich  died  and  Otho,  please  you,  doffed 
His  crown  at  such  a  juncture !  still,  if  hold 
Our  Friedrich's  purpose,  if  this  chain  enfold 
The  neck  of ...  who  but  this  same  Ecelin 
That  must  recoil  when  the  best  days  begin ! 
Recoil  ?  that 's  naught ;  if  the  recoiler  leaves 
His  name  for  me  to  fight  with,  no  one  grieves ! 
But  he  must  interfere,  forsooth,  unlock 
His  cloister  to  become  my  stumbling-block 
Just  as  of  old !     Ay,  ay,  there  't  is  again  — 
The  land's  inevitable  Head  —  explain 
The  reverences  that  subject  us !     Count 
These  Ecelins  now !  not  to  say  as  fount, 
Originating  power  of  thought,  —  from  twelve 
That  drop  i'  the  trenches  they  joined  hands  to  delve, 
Six  shall  surpass  him,  but .  .  .  why,  men  must  twine 


HIMSELF,   IF   IT   WERE    ONLY    WORTH    WHILE,     139 

Somehow  with  something !     Ecelin  's  a  fine 

Gear  name !     'T  were  simpler,  doubtless,  twine  with  me 

At  once :  our  cloistered  friend's  capacity 

Was  of  a  sort !     I  had  to  share  myself 

In  fifty  portions,  like  an  o'ertasked  elf 

That 's  forced  illume  in  fifty  points  the  vast 

Rare  vapor  he  's  environed  by.     At  last 

My  strengths,  though  sorely  frittered,  e'en  converge 

And  crown  . . .  no,  Bacchus,  they  have  yet  to  urge 

The  man  be  crowned ! 

That  aloe,  an  he  durst, 

"Would  climb !  just  such  a  bloated  sprawler  first 
I  noted  in  Messina's  castle-court 
The  day  I  came,  when  Heinrich  asked  in  sport 
If  I  would  pledge  my  faith  to  win  him  back 
His  right  in  Lombardy  :  '  for,  once  bid  pack 
Marauders,'  he  continued,  '  in  my  stead 
You  rule,  Taurello ! '  and  upon  this  head 
Laid  the  silk  glove  of  Constance  —  I  see  her 
Too,  mantled  head  to  foot  in  miniver, 
Retrude  following ! 

I  am  absolved 

From  further  toil :  the  empery  devolved 
On  me,  't  was  Tito's  word :  I  have  to  lay 
For  once  my  plan,  pursue  my  plan  my  way, 
Prompt  nobody,  and  render  an  account 
Taurello  to  Taurello !  nay,  I  mount 
To  Friedrich  —  he  conceives  the  post  I  kept, 
did  true  service,  able  or  inept, 


140     AS   IT   MAY   BE BUT   ALSO,    AS    IT   MAT   NOT   BE 

Who 's  worthy  guerdon,  Ecelin  or  I. 

Me  guerdoned,  counsel  follows ;  would  he  vie 

With  the  Pope  really  ?    Azzo,  Boniface 

Compose  a  right-arm  Hohenstauffen's  race 

Must  break  ere  govern  Lombardy.     I  point 

How  easy  't  were  to  twist,  once  out  of  joint, 

The  socket  from  the  bone :  —  my  Azzo's  stare 

Meanwhile !  for  I,  this  idle  strap  to  wear, 

Shall  —  fret  myself  abundantly,  what  end 

To  serve  ?    There  's  left  me  twenty  years  to  spend 

• —  How  better  than  my  old  way  ?     Had  I  one 

Who  labored  overthrow  my  work  —  a  son 

Hatching  with  Azzo  superb  treachery, 

To  root  my  pines  up  and  then  poison  me, 

Suppose  —  't  were  worth  while  frustrate  that !     Beside, 

Another  life  's  ordained  me :  the  world's  tide 

Rolls,  and  what  hope  of  parting  from  the  press 

Of  waves,  a  single  wave  through  weariness 

Gently  lifted  aside,  laid  upon  shore  ? 

My  life  must  be  lived  out  in  foam  and  roar, 

No  question.     Fifty  years  the  province  held 

Taurello ;  troubles  raised,  and  troubles  quelled, 

He  in  the  midst  —  who  leaves  this  quaint  stone  place, 

These  trees  a  year  or  two,  then,  not  a  trace 

Of  him  !     How  obtain  hold,  fetter  men's  tongues 

Like  this  poor  minstrel  with  the  foolish  songs  — 

To  which,  despite  our  bustle,  he  is  linked  ? 

—  Flowers  one  may  tease,  that  never  grow  extinct. 

A.y,  that  patch,  surely,  green  as  ever,  where 


—  THE   SUPPOSITION    HE    MOST   INCLINES   TO  ;      141 

I  set  Her  Moorish  lentisk,  by  the  stair, 

To  overawe  the  aloes ;  and  we  trod 

Those  flowers,  how  call  you  such  ?  —  into  the  sod ; 

A  stately  foreigner  —  a  world  of  pain 

To  make  it  thrive,  arrest  rough  winds  —  all  vain ! 

It  would  decline  ;  these  would  not  be  destroyed : 

And  now,  where  is  it?  where  can  you  avoid 

The  flowers  ?    I  frighten  children  twenty  years 

Longer !  —  which  way,  too,  Ecelin  appears 

To  thwart  me,  for  his  son's  besotted  youth 

Gives  promise  of  the  proper  tiger-tooth : 

They  feel  it  at  Vicenza !     Fate,  fate,  fate, 

My  fine  Taurello !  go  you,  promulgate 

Friedrich's  decree,  and  here 's  shall  aggrandize 

Young  Ecelin  —  your  Prefect's  badge  !  a  prize 

Too  precious,  certainly. 

How  now  ?     Compete 

With  my  old  comrade  ?  shuffle  from  their  seat 
His  children  ?     Paltry  dealing !     Don't  I  know 
Ecelin  ?  now,  I  think,  and  years  ago ! 
What 's  changed  —  the  weakness  ?  did  not  I  compound 
For  that,  and  undertake  to  keep  him  sound 
Despite  it  ?     Here 's  Taurello  hankering 
After  a  boy's  preferment  —  this  plaything 
To  carry,  Bacchus  ! "     And  he  laughed. 

Eemark 

Why  schemes  wherein  cold-blooded  men  embark 
Prosper,  when  your  enthusiastic  sort 
Fail :  while  these  last  are  ever  stopping  short  — 


142       BEING    CONTENTED    WITH    MERE    VENGEANCE. 

(So  much  they  should  —  so  little  they  can  do !) 
The  careless  tribe  see  nothing  to  pursue 
If  they  desist ;  meantime  their  scheme  succeeds. 
Thoughts  were  caprices  in  the  course  of  deeds 
Methodic  with  Taurello  ;  so,  he  turned, 
Enough  amused  by  fancies  fairly  earned 
Of  Este's  horror-struck  submitted  neck, 
And  Richard,  the  cowed  braggart,  at  his  beck,  — 
To  his  own  petty  but  immediate  doubt 
If  he  could  pacify  the  League  without 
Conceding  Richard ;  just  to  this  was  brought 
That  interval  of  vain  discursive  thought ! 
As,  shall  I  say,  some  Ethiop,  past  pursuit 
Of  all  enslavers,  dips  a  shackled  foot 
Burnt  to  the  blood,  into  the  drowsy  black 
Enormous  watercourse  which  guides  him  back 
To  his  own  tribe  again,  where  he  is  king  ; 
And  laughs  because  he  guesses,  numbering 
The  yellower  poison-wattles  on  the  pouch 
Of  the  first  lizard  wrested  from  its  couch 
Under  the  slime  (whose  skin,  the  while,  he  strips 
To  cure  his  nostril  with,  and  festered  lips, 
And  eyeballs  bloodshot  through  the  desert  blast) 
That  he  has  reached  its  boundary,  at  last 
May  breathe;  —  thinks  o'er  enchantments  of  the  South 
Sovereign  to  plague  his  enemies,  their  mouth, 
Eyes,  nails,  and  hair ;  but,  these  enchantments  tried 
In  fancy,  puts  them  soberly  aside 
For  truth,  projects  a  cool  return  with  friends, 


BORDELLO,   TAUGHr    WHAT    GHIBELL1KS    Alii.,       lio 

The  likelihood  of  winning  mere  amends 
Erelong;  thinks  that,  takes  comfort  silently, 
Then,  from  the  river's  brink,  his  wrongs  and  he, 
Hugging  revenge  close  to  their  hearts,  are  soon 
Off-striding  for  the  Mountains  of  the  Moon. 

Midnight :  the  watcher  nodded  on  his  spear, 
Since  clouds  dispersing  left  a  passage  clear, 
For  any  meagre  and  discolored  moon 
To  venture  forth ;  and  such  was  peering  soon 
Above  the  harassed  city  —  her  close  lanes 
Closer,  not  half  so  tapering  her  fanes, 
As  though  she  shrunk  into  herself  to  keep 
What  little  life  was  saved,  more  safely.     Heap 
By  heap  the  watch-fires  mouldered,  and  beside 
The  blackest  spoke  Sordello  and  replied 
Palma  with  none  to  listen.     "  'T  is  your  Cause : 
What  makes  a  Ghibellin  ?     There  should  be  laws  — 
(Remember  how  my  youth  escaped !     I  trust 
To  you  for  manhood,  Palma ;  tell  me  just 
As  any  child)  —  there  must  be  laws  at  work 
Explaining  this.     Assure  me,  good  may  lurk 
Under  the  bad,  —  my  multitude  has  part 
In  your  designs,  their  welfare  is  at  heart 
With  Salinguerra,  to  their  interest 
Refer  the  deeds  he  dwelt  on,  —  so  divest 
Our  conference  of  much  thai,  scared  me.     Why 
Affect  that  heartless  tone  to  Tito  ?     I 
Esteemed  myself,  yes,  in  my  inmost  mind 
This  morn,  a  recreant  to  my  race  —  mankind 


144      AND    WHAT    GUELFS,    APPROVES    OF    NEITHER. 

O'erlooked  till  now :  why  boast  my  spirit's  force, 

—  Such  force  denied  its  object  ?  why  divorce 
These,  then  admire  my  spirit's  flight  the  same 

As  though  it  bore  up,  helped  some  half-orbed  flame 
Else  quenched  in  the  dead  void,  to  living  space  ? 

—  That  orb  cast  off  to  chaos  and  disgrace, 
Why  vaunt  so  much  my  unincumbered  dance, 
Making  a  feat's  facilities  enhance 

Its  marvel  ?     But  I  front  Taurello,  one 
Of  happier  fate,  and  all  I  should  have  done, 
He  does  ;  the  people's  good  being  paramount 
With  him,  their  progress  may  perhaps  account 
For  his  abiding  still :  whereas  you  heard 
The  talk  with  Tito  —  the  excuse  preferred 
For  burning  those  five  hostages,  —  and  broached 
By  way  of  blind,  as  you  and  I  approached, 
I  do  believe." 

She  spoke :  then  he,  "  My  thought 
Plainlier  expressed !     All  to  your  profit  —  naught 
Meantime  of  these,  of  conquests  to  achieve 
For  them,  of  wretchedness  he  might  relieve 
While  profiting  your  party.     Azzo,  too, 
Supports  a  cause :  what  cause  ?     Do  Guelfs  pursue 
Their  ends  by  means  like  yours,  or  better  ?  " 

When 

The  Guelfs  were  proved  alike,  men  weighed  with  men, 
And  deed  with  deed,  blaze,  blood,  with  blood  and  blaze. 
Morn  broke :  "  Once  more,  Sordello,  meet  its  gaze 
Proudly  —  the  people's  charge  against  thee  fails 


HAVE    MEN    A    CAUSE    DISTINCT    FliOM    BOTH?       14ft 

In  every  point,  while  either  party  quails ! 
These  are  the  busy  ones  —  be  silent  thou  ! 
Two  parties  take  the  world  up,  and  allow 
No  third,  yet  have  one  principle,  subsist 
By  the  same  injustice ;  whoso  shall  enlist 
With  either,  ranks  with  man's  inveterate  foes. 
So  there  is  one  less  quarrel  to  compose : 
The  Guelf,  the  Ghibellin  may  be  to  curse  — 
I  have  done  nothing,  but  both  sides  do  worse 
Than  nothing.     Nay,  to  me,  forgotten,  reft 
Of  insight,  lapped  by  trees  and  flowers,  was  left 
The  notion  of  a  service  —  ha  ?     What  lured 
Me  here,  what  mighty  aim  was  I  assured 
Must  move  Taurello  ?    What  if  there  remained 
A  Cause,  intact,  distinct  from  these,  ordained, 
For  me,  its  true  discoverer  ?  " 

Some  one  pressed 

Before  them  here,  a  watcher,  to  suggest 
The  subject  for  a  ballad :  "  They  must  know 
The  tale  of  the  dead  worthy,  long  ago 
Consul  of  Rome  —  that 's  long  ago  for  us, 
Minstrels  and  bowmen,  idly  squabbling  thus 
In  the  world's  corner  —  but  too  late,  no  doubt, 
For  the  brave  time  he  sought  to  bring  about. 
—  Not  know  Crescentius  Nomentanus  ?  "     Then 
He  cast  about  for  terms  to  tell  him,  when 
Sordello  disavowed  it,  how  they  used 
Whenever  their  Superior  introduced 
A  novice  to  the  Brotherhood  —  ("  for  I 

7  i 


146    WHO    WAS   THE   FAMED    ROMAN    CRESCENTIUS  ? 

Was  just  a  brown-sleeve  brother,  merrily 

Appointed  too,"  quoth  he,  "  till  Innocent 

Bade  me  relinquish,  to  my  small  content, 

My  wife  or  my  brown  sleeves  ")  —  some  brother  spoke 

Ere  nocturns  of  Crescentius,  to  revoke 

The  edict  issued,  after  his  demise, 

Which  blotted  fame  alike  and  effigies, 

All  out  except  a  floating  power,  a  name 

Including,  tending  to  produce  the  same 

Great  act     Rome,  dead,  forgotten,  lived  at  least 

Within  that  brain,  though  to  a  vulgar  priest 

And  a  vile  stranger,  —  two  not  worth  a  slave 

Of  Rome's,  Pope  John,  King  Otho,  —  fortune  gave 

The  rule  there :  so,  Crescentius,  haply  drest 

In  white,  called  Roman  Consul  for  a  jest, 

Taking  the  people  at  their  word,  forth  stept 

As  upon  Brutus'  heel,  nor  ever  kept 

Rome  waiting,  —  stood  erect,  and  from  his  brain 

Gave  Rome  out  on  its  ancient  place  again, 

Ay,  bade  proceed  with  Brutus'  Rome,  kings  styled 

Themselves  mere  citizens  of,  and,  beguiled 

Into  great  thoughts  thereby,  would  choose  the  gem 

Out  of  a  lapful,  spoil  their  diadem 

—  The  Senate's  cipher  was  so  hard  to  scratch ! 

He  flashes  like  a  phanal,  all  men  catch 

The  flame,  Rome's  just  accomplished  !  when  returned 

Otho,  with  John,  the  Consul's  step  had  spurned, 

And  Hugo  Lord  of  Este,  to  redress 

The  wrongs  of  each.     Crescentius  in  the  stress 


HOW   IF,   IN   THE   RE-INTEGRATION    OF   ROME,      147 

Of  adverse  fortune  bent.     "  They  crucified 

Their  Consul  in  the  Forum,  and  abide 

E'er  since  such  slaves  at  Rome,  that  I  —  (for  I 

Was  once  a  brown-sleeve  brother,  merrily 

Appointed)  —  I  had  option  to  keep  wife 

Or  keep  brown  sleeves,  and  managed  in  the  strife 

Lose  both.     A  song  of  Rome ! " 

And  Rome,  indeed, 
Robed  at  Goito  in  fantastic  weed, 
The  Mother-City  of  his  Mantuan  days, 
Looked  an  established  point  of  light  whence  rays 
Traversed  the  world ;  for,  all  the  clustered  homes 
Beside  of  men,  seemed  bent  on  being  Romes 
In  their  degree ;  the  question  was,  how  each 
Should  most  resemble  Rome,  clean  out  of  reach. 
Nor,  of  the  great  Two,  either  principle, 
Struggled  to  change  —  but  to  possess  —  Rome,  still, 
Guelf  Rome  or  Ghibellin  Rome. 

Let  Rome  advance ! 

Rome,  as  she  struck  Sordello's  ignorance  — 
How  could  he  doubt  one  moment  ?     Rome  's  the  Cause  1 
Rome  of  the  Pandects,  all  the  world's  new  laws  — 
Of  the  Capitol,  of  Castle  Angelo ; 
New  structures,  that  inordinately  glow, 
Subdued,  brought  back  to  harmony,  made  ripe 
By  many  a  relic  of  the  archetype 
Extant  for  wonder  ;  every  upstart  church 
That  hoped  to  leave  old  temples  in  the  lurch, 
Corrected  by  the  Theatre  forlorn 


148        BE    TYPIFIED    THE    TRIUMPH    OF    MANKIND? 

That,  —  as  a  mundane  shell,  its  world  late  born,  — 
Lay  and  o'ershadowed  it.     These  hints  combined, 
Rome  typifies  the  scheme  to  put  mankind 
Once  more  in  full  possession  of  their  rights. 
u  Let  us  have  Rome  again !     On  me  it  lights 
To  build  up  Rome  —  on  me,  the  first  and  last : 
For  such  a  Future  was  endured  the  Past ! " 
And  thus,  in  the  gray  twilight,  forth  he  sprung 
To  give  his  thought  consistency  among 
The  very  People  —  let  their  facts  avail 
Finish  the  dream  grown  from  the  archer's  tale. 


BOOK  THE  FIFTH. 

MANKIND    TRIUMPH    OP   A    8UDDBH  t 

Is  it  the  same  Sordello  in  the  dusk 

As  at  the  dawn  ?  —  merely  a  perished  husk 

Now,  that  arose  a  power  fit  to  build 

Up  Rome  again  ?     The  proud  conception  chilled 

So  soon  ?    Ay,  watch  that  latest  dream  of  thine 

—  A  Rome  indebted  to  no  Palatine, 

Drop  arch  by  arch,  Sordello !     Art  possest 

Of  thy  wish  now  —  rewarded  for  thy  quest 

To-day  among  Ferrara's  squalid  sons  — 

Are  this  and  this  and  this  the  shining  ones 

Meet  for  the  Shining  City  ?     Sooth  to  say, 

Your  favored  tenantry  pursue  their  way 

After  a  fashion !     This  companion  slips 

On  the  smooth  causey,  t'  other  blinkard  trips 

At  his  mooned  sandal.     "  Leave  to  lead  the  brawls 

Here  i'  the  atria  ?  "     No,  friend !     He  that  sprawls 

On  aught  but  a  stibadium  .  .  what  his  dues 

Who  puts  the  lustral  vase  to  such  an  use  ? 

0,  huddle  up  the  day's  disasters !     March, 

Ye  runagates,  and  drop  thou,  arch  by  arch, 

Rome! 

Yet  before  they  quite  disband  —  a  whim- 
Study  mere  shelter,  now,  for  him,  and  him, 


150     WHY,    THE    WORK    SHOULD    BE    ONE    OF   AGES, 

Nay,  even  the  worst, — just  house  them !     Any  cave 

Suffices :  throw  out  earth !     A  loophole  ?     Brave ! 

They  ask  to  feel  the  sun  shine,  see  the  grass 

Grow,  hear  the  larks  sing  ?     Dead  art  thou,  alas, 

And  I  am  dead !     But  here 's  our  son  excels 

At  hurdle-weaving  any  Scythian,  fells 

Oak  and  devises  rafters,  dreams  and  shapes 

His  dream  into  a  door-post,  just  escapes 

The  mystery  of  hinges.     Lie  we  both 

Perdue  another  age.     The  goodly  growth 

Of  brick  and  stone !     Our  building-pelt  was  rough, 

But  that  descendant's  garb  suits  well  enough 

A  portico-contriver.     Speed  the  years  — 

What 's  time  to  us  ?  at  last,  a  city  rears 

Itself !  nay,  enter  —  what 's  the  grave  to  us  ? 

Lo,  our  forlorn  acquaintance  carry  thus 

The  head !     Successively  sewer,  forum,  cirque  — 

Last  age,  an  aqueduct  was  counted  work, 

But  now  they  tire  the  artificer  upon 

Blank  alabaster,  black  obsidian, 

—  Careful,  Jove's  face  be  duly  fulgurant, 

And  mother  Venus'  kiss-creased  nipples  pant 

Back  into  pristine  pulpiness,  ere  fixed 

Above  the  baths.     What  difference  betwixt 

This  Rome  and  ours  —  resemblance  what,  between 

That  scurvy  dumb-show  and  this  pageant  sheen  — 

These  Romans  and  our  rabble  ?     Use  thy  wit ! 

The  work  marched :  step  by  step,  —  a  workman  fit 

Took  each,  nor  too  fit,  —  to  one  task,  one  time,  — 


IF   PERFORMED    EQUALLY   AND    THOROUGHLY;     151 

No  leaping  o'er  the  petty  to  the  prime, 

When  just  the  substituting  osier  lithe 

For  brittle  bulrush,  sound  wood  for  soft  withe, 

To  further  loam-and-roughcast-work  a  stage,  — 

Exacts  an  architect,  exacts  an  age : 

No  tables  of  the  Mauritanian  tree 

For  men  whose  maple-log 's  their  luxury ! 

That    way    was    Rome    built       "Better"    (say   you) 

"  merge 

At  once  all  workmen  in  the  demiurge, 
All  epochs  in  a  lifetime,  every  task 
In  one ! "     So  should  the  sudden  city  bask 
I'  the  day  —  while  those  we  'd  feast  there,  want  the  knack 
Of  keeping  fresh-chalked  gowns  from  speck  and  brack, 
Distinguish  not  rare  peacock  from  vile  swan, 
Nor  Mareotic  juice  from  Crecuban. 
"  Enough  of  Rome !     'T  was  happy  to  conceive 
Rome  on  a  sudden,  nor  shall  fate  bereave 
Me  of  that  credit :  for  the  rest,  her  spite 
Is  an  old  story  —  serves  my  folly  right 
By  adding  yet  another  to  the  dull 
List  of  abortions  —  things  proved  beautiful 
Could  they  be  done,  jSordello  cannot  do." 

He  sat  upon  the  terrace,  plucked  and  threw 
The  powdery  aloe-cusps  away,  saw  shift 
Rome's  walls,  and  drop  arch  after  arch,  and  drift 
Mist-like  afar  those  pillars  of  all  stripe, 
Mounds  of  all  majesty.     "  Thou  archetype, 
Last  of  my  dreams  and  loveliest,  depart ! " 


152  AND  A  MAN  CAN  BUT  DO  A  MAN'S  PORTION. 

And  then  a  low  voice  wound  into  his  heart : 
"  Sordello !  "  (low  as  some  old  Pythoness 
Conceding  to  a  Lydian  King's  distress 
The  cause  of  his  long  error  —  one  mistake 
Of  her  past  oracle)  "  Sordello,  wake ! 
God  has  conceded  two  sights  to  a  man  — 
One,  of  men's  whole  work,  time's  completed  plan, 
The  other,  of  the  minute's  work,  man's  first 
Step  to  the  plan's  completeness :  what 's  dispersed 
Save  hope  of  that  supreme  step  which,  descried 
Earliest,  was  meant  still  to  remain  untried 
Only  to  give  you  heart  to  take  your  own 
Step,  and  there  stay  —  leaving  the  rest  alone  ? 
Where  is  the  vanity  ?     Why  count  as  one 
The  first  step,  with  the  last  step  ?     What  is  gone 
.Except  Rome's  aery  magnificence, 
That  last  step  you  'd  take  fii-st  ?  —  an  evidence 
You  were  God :  be  man  now !     Let  those  glances  fall ! 
The  basis,  the  beginning  step  of  all, 
Which  proves  you  just  a  man  —  is  that  gone  too  ? 
Pity  to  disconcert  one  versed  as  you 
In  fate's  ill-nature !  but  its  full  extent 
Eludes  Sordello,  even :  the  veil  rent, 
Read  the  black  writing  —  that  collective  man 
Outstrips  the  individual !     Who  began 
The  acknowledged  greatnesses  ?    Ay,  your  own  art 
Shall  serve  us :  put  the  poet's  mimes  apart  — 
Close  with  the  poet's  self,  and  lo,  a  dim 
Y^et  too  plain  form  divides  itself  from  him ! 


THE   LAST   OF   EACH    SERIES    OF    WORKMEN       153 

Alcamo's  song  enmeshes  the  lulled  Isle, 

Woven  into  the  echoes  left  erewhile 

By  Nina,  one  soft  web  of  song:  no  more 

Turning  his  name,  then,  flower-like  o'er  and  o'er ! 

An  elder  poet  in  the  younger's  place  — 

Nina's  the  strength  —  but  Alcamo's  the  grace  : 

Each  neutralizes  each  then ! .   Search  your  fill ; 

You  get  no  whole  and  perfect  Poet  —  still 

New  Ninas,  Alcamos,  till  time's  midnight 

Shrouds  all  —  or  better  say,  the  shutting  light 

Of  a  forgotten  yesterday.     Dissect 

Every  ideal  workman  —  (to  reject 

In  favor  of  your  fearful  ignorance 

The  thousand  phantasms  eager  to  advance, 

And  point  you  but  to  those  within  your  reach)  — 

Were  you  the  first  who  brought —  (in  modern  speech) 

The  Multitude  to  be  "niaterialized  ? 

That  loose  eternal  unrest  —  who  devised 

An  apparition  i'  the  midst  ?     The  rout 

Was  checked,  a  breathless  ring  was  formed  about 

That  sudden  flower :  get  round  at  any  risk 

The  gold-rough  pointel,  silver-blazing  disk 

O'  the  lily  !     Swords  across  it !     Reign  thy  reign 

And  serve  thy  frolic  service,  Charlemagne ! 

—  The  very  child  of  over-joyousness, 

Unfeeling  thence,  strong  tl  .erefore  :  Strength  by  stress 

Of  Strength  comes  of  that  forehead  confident, 

Those  widened  eyes  expecting  heart's  content, 

A  calm  as  out  of  just-quelled  noise  ;  nor  swerves 


154       SUMS    UP   IN   HIMSELF   ALL   PREDECESSORS. 

For  doubt,  the  ample  cheek  in  gracious  curves 

Abutting  on  the  upthrust  nether  lip : 

He  wills,  how  should  he  doubt  then  ?    Ages  slip : 

Was  it  Sordello  pried  into  the  work 

So  far  accomplished,  and  discovered  lurk 

A  company  amid  the  other  clans, 

Only  distinct  in  priests  for  castellans 

And  popes  for  suzerains  (their  rule  confessed 

Its  rule,  their  interest  its  interest, 

Living  for  sake  of  living  —  there  an  end,  — 

Wrapt  in  itself,  no  energy  to  spend 

In  making  adversaries  or  allies),  — 

Dived  you  into  its  capabilities 

And  dared  create,  out  of  that  sect,  a  soul 

Should  turn  the  multitude,  already  whole, 

Into  its  body  ?     Speak  plainer !     Is 't  so  sure 

God's  church  lives  by  a  King's  investiture  ? 

Look  to  last  step !  a  staggering  —  a  shock  — 

What 's  mere  sand  is  demolished,  while  the  rock 

Endures :  a  column  of  black  fiery  dust 

Blots  heaven  —  that  help  was  prematurely  thrust 

Aside,  perchance !  —  but  the  air  clears,  naught 's  erased 

Of  the  true  outline !     Thus  much  being  firm  based, 

The  other  was  a  scaffold.     See  him  stand 

Buttressed  upon  his  mattock,  Hildebrand 

Of  the  hugh  brain-mask  welded  ply  o'er  ply 

As  in  a  forge ;  it  buries  either  eye 

White  and  extinct,  that  stupid  brow ;  teeth  clenched, 

The  neck  tight-corded,  too,  the  chin  deep-trenched, 


WE  JUST    SEE    CHABLEMAGNE,   HILDEBRAND,     155 

A.8  if  a  cloud  enveloped  him  while  fought 

Under  its  shade,  griin  prizers,  thought  with  thought 

At  dead-lock,  agonizing  he,  until 

The  victor  thought  leapt  radiant  up,  and  Will, 

The  slave  with  folded  arms  and  drooping  lids 

They  fought  for,  lean  forth  flame-like  as  it  bids. 

Call  him  no  flower  —  a  mandrake  of  the  earth, 

Thwarted  and  dwarfed  and  blasted  in  its  birth, 

Rather,  a  fruit  of  suffering's  excess, 

Thence  feeling,  therefore  stronger :  still  by  stress 

Of  Strength,  work  Knowledge !  Full  three  hundred  years 

Have  men  to  wear  away  in  smiles  and  tears 

Between  the  two  that  nearly  seem  to  touch, 

Observe  you  !  quit  one  workman  and  you  clutch 

Another,  letting  both  their  trains  go  by  — 

The  actors-out  of  cither's  policy, 

Heinrich,  on  this  hand,  Otho,  Barbaross, 

Carry  the  three  Imperial  crowns  across, 

Aix'  Iron,  Milan's  Silver,  and  Rome's  Gold  — 

While  Alexander,  Innocent  uphold 

On  that,  each  Papal  key  —  but,  link  on  link, 

Why  is  it  neither  chain  betrays  a  chink  ? 

How  coalesce  the  small  and  great  ?     Alack, 

For  one  thrust  forward,  fifty  such  fall  back  I 

Do  the  popes  coupled  there  help  Gregory 

Alone  ?  Hark  —  from  the  hermit  Peter's  cry 

At  Claremont,  down  to  the  first  serf  that  says 

Friedrich  's  no  liege  of  his  while  he  delays 

Getting  the  Pope's  curse  off  him !     The  Crusade  — 


156    IN    COMPOSITE    WORK   THEY   END    AND   NAME. 

Or  trick  of  breeding  strength  by  other  aid 

Than  strength,  is  safe.     Hark  —  from  the  wild  harangue 

Of  Vimmercato,  to  the  carroch's  clang 

Yonder !     The  League  —  or  trick  of  turning  strength 

Against  pernicious  strength,  is  safe  at  length. 

Yet  hark  —  from  Mantuan  Albert  making  cease 

The  fierce  ones,  to  Saint  Francis  preaching  peace 

Yonder !     God's  Truce  —  or  trick  to  supersede 

The  very  use  of  strength,  is  safe.     Indeed 

We  trench  upon  the  Future !     Who  is  found 

To  take  next  step,  next  age  —  trail  o'er  the  ground  — 

Shall  I  say,  gourd-like  ?  —  not  the  flower's  display 

Nor  the  root's  prowess,  but  the  plenteous  way 

O'  the  plant  —  produced  by  joy  and  sorrow,  whence 

Unfeeling  and  yet  feeling,  strongest  thence  ? 

Knowledge  by  stress  of  merely  Knowledge  ?    No  — 

E'en  were  Sordello  ready  to  forego 

His  life  for  this,  't  were  overleaping  work 

Some  one  has  first  to  do,  howe'er  it  irk, 

Nor  stray  a  foot's  breadth  from  the  beaten  road. 

Who  means  to  help  must  still  support  the  load 

Hildebrand  lifted  — '  why  hast  Thou,'  he  groanedr 

'  Imposed  on  me  a  burden,  Paul  had  moaned, 

And  Moses  dropped  beneath  ? '     Much  done  —  and  yet 

Doubtless,  that  grandest  task  God  ever  set 

On  man,  left  much  to  do :  at  his  arm's  wrench, 

Charlemagne's  scaffold  fell ;  but  pillars  blench 

Merely,  start  back  again  —  perchance  have  been 

Taken  for  buttresses :  crash  every  screen, 


IF   ASSOCIATES    TROUBLE    YOU,    STAND    OFF!      157 

Hammer  the  tenons  better,  and  engage 

A  gang  about  your  work,  for  the  next  age 

Or  two,  of  Knowledge,  part  by  Strength  and  part 

By  Knowledge !     Then,  indeed,  perchance  may  start 

Sordello  on  his  race  —  would  time  divulge 

Such  secrets !     If  one  step  's  awry,  one  bulge 

Calls  for  correction  by  a  step  we  thought 

Got  over  long  since,  why,  till  that  is  wrought, 

No  progress  !  and  the  scaffold  in  its  turn 

Becomes,  its  service  o'er,  a  thing  to  spurn. 

Meanwhile,  if  your  half-dozen  years  of  life 

In  store,  dispose  you  to  forego  the  strife, 

Who  takes  exception  ?     Only  bear  in  mind, 

Ferrara  's  reached,  Goito  's  left  behind : 

As  you  then  were,  as  half  yourself,  desist ! 

—  The  warrior-part  of  you  may,  an  it  list, 

Ending  real  faulchions  difficult  to  poise, 

Fling  tnem  afar  and  taste  the  cream  of  joys 

By  wielding  such  in  fancy,  —  what  is  bard 

Of  you,  may  spurn  the  vehicle  that  marred 

Elys  so  much,  and  in  free  fancy  glut 

His  sense,  yet  write  no  verses  —  you  have  but 

To  please  yourself  for  law,  and  once  could  please 

What  once  appeared  yourself,  by  dreaming  these 

Rather  than  doing  these,  in  days  gone  by. 

But  all  is  changed  the  moment  you  descry 

Mankind  as  half  yourself,  —  then,  fancy's  trade 

Ends  once  and  always :  how  may  half  evade 

The  other  half?  men  are  found  half  of  you. 


158    — SHOULD    THE   NEW    SYMPATHIES   ALLOW   YOU 

Out  of  a  thousand  helps,  just  one  or  two 
Can  be  accomplished  presently :  but  flinch 
From  these  (as  from  the  faulchion,  raised  an  inch, 
Elys,  described  a  couplet)  and  make  proof 
Of  fancy,  —  then,  while  one  half  lolls  aloof 
F  the  vines,  completing  Rome  to  the  tip-top  — 
See  if,  for  that,  your  other  half  will  stop 
A  tear,  begin  a  smile !     The  rabble's  woes, 
Ludicrous  in  their  patience  as  they  chose 
To  sit  about  their  town  and  quietly 
Be  slaughtered,  —  the  poor  reckless  soldiery, 
With  their  ignoble  rhymes  on  Richard,  how 
'  Polt-foot,'  sang  they, '  was  in  a  pitfall  now,' 
Cheering  each  other  from  the  engine-mounts,  — 
That  crippled  spawling  idiot  who  recounts 
How,  lopt  of  limbs,  he  lay,  stupid  as  stone, 
Till  the  pains  crept  from  out  him  one  by  one, 
And  wriggles  round  the  archers  on  his  head 
To  earn  a  morsel  of  their  chestnut  bread,  — 
And  Cino,  always  in  the  selfsame  place 
Weeping ;  beside  that  other  wretch's  case, 
Eyepits  to  ear,  one  gangrene  since  he  plied 
The  engine  in  his  coat  of  raw  sheep's  hide 
A  double  watch  in  the  noon  sun  ;  and  see 
Lucchino,  beauty,  with  the  favors  free, 
Trim  hacqueton,  spruce  beard  and  scented  hair, 
Campaigning  it  for  the  first  time  —  cut  there 
In  two  already,  boy  enough  to  crawl 
For  latter  orpine  round  the  southern  wall, 


TIME   HAVING   BEEN    LOST,    CHOOSE    QUICK !      159 

Toma,  where  Richard  'a  kept,  because  that  whore 

Marfisa,  the  fool  never  saw  before, 

Sickened  for  flowers  this  wearisomest  siege : 

And  Tiso's  wife  —  men  liked  their  pretty  liege, 

Cared  for  her  least  of  whims  once,  —  Berta,  wed 

A  twelvemonth  gone,  and,  now  poor  Tiso  's  dead, 

Delivering  herself  of  his  first  child 

On  that  chance  heap  of  wet  filth,  reconciled 

To  fifty  gazers ! "  —  (Here  a  wind  below 

Made  moody  music  augural  of  woe 

From  the  pine  barrier)  —  "  What  if,  now  the  scene 

Draws  to  a  close,  yourself  have  really  been 

—  You,  plucking  purples  in  Goito's  moss 

Like  edges  of  a  trabea  (not  to  cross 

Your  consul-humor)  or  dry  aloe-shafts 

For  fasces,  at  Ferrara  —  he,  fate  wafts, 

This  very  age,  her  whole  inheritance 

Of  opportunities  ?     Yet  you  advance 

Upon  the  last !     Since  talking  is  your  trade, 

There  's  Salinguerra  left  you  to  persuade : 

Fail!  then"  — 

"  No  —  no  —  which  latest  chance  secure  I  * 
Leapt  up  and  cried  Sordello  :  "  this  made  sure, 
The  Past  were  yet  redeemable ;  its  work 
Was  —  holp  the  Guelfs,  whom  I,  howe'er  it  irk, 
Thus  help ! "     He  shook  the  foolish  aloe-haulm 
Out  of  his  doublet,  paused,  proceeded  calm 
To  the  appointed  presence.     The  large  head 
Turned  on  its  socket ;  "  And  your  spokesman,"  said 


160        HE   TAKES   HIS   FIRST    STEP   AS   A    GUELF; 

4 

The  large  voice,  "  is  Elcorte's  happy  sprout  ? 
Few  such  "  —  (so  finishing  a  speech  no  doubt 
Addressed  to  Palma,  silent  at  his  side) 

—  "  My  sober  councils  have  diversified. 
Elcorte's  son  !  good :  forward  as  you  may, 
Our  lady's  minstrel  with  so  much  to  say ! " 
The  hesitating  sunset  floated  back, 
Rosily  traversed  in  the  wonted  track 

The  chamber,  from  the  lattice  o'er  the  girth 

Of  pines,  to  the  huge  eagle  blacked  in  earth 

Opposite,  —  outlined  sudden,  spur  to  crest, 

That  solid  Salinguerra,  and  caressed 

Palma's  contour  ;  't  was  Day  looped  back  Night's  pall 

Sordello  had  a  chance  left  spite  of  all. 

And  much  he  made  of  the  convincing  speech 
He  meant  should  compensate  the  Past  and  reach 
Through  his  youth's  daybreak  of  unprofit,  quite 
To  his  noon's  labor,  so  proceed  till  night 
Leisurely !     The  great  argument  to  bind 
Taurello  with  the  Guelf  Cause,  body  and  mind, 

—  Came  the  consummate  rhetoric  to  that  ? 
Yet  most  Sordello's  argument  dropped  flat 
Through  his  accustomed  fault  of  breaking  yoke, 
Disjoining  him  who  felt  from  him  who  spoke. 
Was 't  not  a  touching  incident  —  so  prompt 

A  rendering  the  world  its  just  accompt, 

Once  proved  its  debtor  ?     Who  'd  suppose,  before 

This  proof,  that  he,  Goito's  god  of  yore, 

At  duty's  instance  could  demean  himself 


BUT  TO  WILL  AND  TO  DO  ARE  DIFFERENT:  161 

So  memorably,  dwindle  to  a  Guelf  ? 

Be  sure,  in  such  delicious  flattery  steeped, 

His  inmost  self  at  the  out-portion  peeped 

Thus  occupied  ;  then  stole  a  glance  at  those 

Appealed  to,  curious  if  her  color  rose 

Or  his  lip  moved,  while  he  discreetly  urged 

The  need  of  Lombardy's  becoming  purged 

At  soonest  of  her  barons  ;  the  poor  part 

Abandoned  thus,  missing  the  blood  at  heart 

And  spirit  in  brain,  unseasonably  off 

Elsewhere !     But,  though  his  speech  was  worthy  scoff, 

Good-humored  Salinguerra,  famed  for  tact 

And  tongue,  who,  careless  of  his  phrase,  ne'er  lacked 

The  right  phrase,  and  harangued  Honorius  dumb 

At  his  accession,  —  looked  as  all  fell  plumb 

To  purpose  and  himself  found  interest 

In  every  point  his  new  instructor  pressed 

—  Left  playing  with  the  rescript's  white  wax  seal 

To  scrutinize  Sordello  head  and  heel. 

Then  means  he  yield  assent  sure  ?     No,  alas  I 

All  he  replied  was,  "  What,  it  comes  to  pass 

That  poesy,  sooner  than  politics, 

Makes  fade  young  hair  ?  "  To  think  such  speech  could  fix 

Taurello ! 

Then  a  flash  of  bitter  truth : 
So  fantasies  could  break  and  fritter  youth 
That  he  had  long  ago  lost  earnestness, 
Lost  will  to  work,  lost  power  to  even  express 
The  need  of  working !     Earth  was  turned  a  grave : 


162      HE    MAT    SLEEP    ON    THE    BED    HE    HAS    MADE. 

No  more  occasions  now,  though  he  should  crave 

Just  one,  in  right  of  superhuman  toil, 

To  do  what  was  undone,  repair  such  spoil, 

Alter  the  Past  —  nothing  would  give  the  chance  I 

Not  that  he  was  to  die :  he  saw  askance 

Protract  the  ignominious  years  beyond 

To  dream  in  —  time  to  hope  and  time  despond. 

Remember  and  forget,  be  sad,  rejoice 

As  saved  a  trouble ;  he  might,  at  his  choice, 

One  way  or  other,  idle  life  out,  drop 

No  few  smooth  verses  by  the  way  —  for  prop, 

A  thyrsus,  these  sad  people,  all  the  same, 

Should  pick  up,  and  set  store  by,  —  far  from  blame, 

Plant  o'er  his  hearse,  convinced  his  better  part 

Survived  him.     "  Rather  tear  men  out  the  heart 

Of  the  truth ! "  —  Sordello  muttered,  and  renewed 

His  propositions  for  the  Multitude. 

But  Salinguerra,  who  at  this  attack 
Had  thrown  great  breast  and  ruffling  corslet  back 
To  hear  the  better,  smilingly  resumed 
His  task ;  beneath,  the  carroch's  warning  boomed ; 
He  must  decide  with  Tito  ;  courteously 
He  turned  then,  even  seeming  to  agree 
With  his  admonisher  —  "  Assist  the  Pope, 
Extend  Guelf  domination,  fill  the  scope 
Of  the  Church,  thus  based  on  All,  by  All,  for  All  — 
Change  Secular  to  Evangelical "  — 
Echoing  his  very  sentence :  all  seemed  lost, 
When  sudden  he  looked  up,  laughingly  almost, 


SCORN    FLINGS    COLD    WATER   IN    HIS   FACE,        163 

To  Palma :  "  This  opinion  of  your  friend's  — 

For  instance,  would  it  answer  Palma's  ends  ? 

Best,  were  it  not,  turn  Guelf,  submit  our  Strength "  — 

(Here  he  drew  out  his  baldric  to  its  length) 

—  "  To  the  Pope's  Knowledge  —  let  our  captive  slip, 
Wide  to  the  walls  throw  ope  our  gates,  equip 

Azzo  with  .  . .  what  I  hold  here  ?    Who  '11  subscribe 
To  a  trite  censure  of  the  minstrel  tribe 
Henceforward?  or  pronounce,  as  Heinrich  used, 
'  Spear-heads  for  battle,  burr-heads  for  the  joust ! ' 

—  When  Constance,  for  his  couplets,  would  promote 
Alcamo,  from  a  parti-colored  coat, 

To  holding  her  lord's  stirrup  in  the  wars. 
Not  that  I  see  where  couplet-making  jars 
With  common  sense :  at  Mantua  I  had  borne 
This  chanted,  better  than  their  most  forlorn 
Of  bull-baits,  —  that 's  indisputable ! " 

Brave ! 

Whom  vanity  nigh  slew,  contempt  shall  save ! 
All 's  at  an  end :  a  Troubadour  suppose 
Mankind  will  class  him  with  their  friends  or  foes  ? 
A  puny  uncouth  ailing  vassal  think 
The  world  and  him  bound  in  some  special  link  ? 
Abrupt  the  visionary  tether  burst  — 
What  were  rewarded  here,  or  what  amerced 
If  a  poor  drudge,  solicitous  to  dream 
Deservingly,  got  tangled  by  his  theme 
So  far  as  to  conceit  the  knack  or  gift 
Or  whatsoe'er  it  be,  of  verse,  might  lift 


164      AROUSES   HIM   AT   LAST,   TO    SOME   PURPOSE, 

The  globe,  a  lever  like  the  hand  and  head 
Of —  "  Men  of  Action,"  as  the  Jongleurs  said, 
—  "  The  Great  Men,"  in  the  people's  dialect  ? 

And  not  a  moment  did  this  scorn  affect 
Sordello :  scorn  the  poet  ?     They,  for  once, 
Asking  "  what  was,"  obtained  a  full  response. 
Bid  Naddo  think   at  Mantua,  he  had  but 
To  look  into  his  promptuary,  put 
Finger  on  a  set  thought  in  a  set  speech : 
But  was  Sordello  fitted  thus  for  each 
Conjecture  ?     Nowise ;  since,  within  his  soul, 
Perception  brooded  unexpressed  and  whole. 
A  healthy  spirit  like  a  healthy  frame 
Craves  aliment  in  plenty  —  all  the  same, 
Changes,  assimilates  its  aliment. 
Perceived  Sordello,  on  a  truth  intent  ? 
Next  day  no  formularies  more  you  saw 
Than  figs  or  olives  in  a  sated  maw. 
T  is  Knowledge,  whither  such  perceptions  tend ; 
They  lose  themselves  in  that,  means  to  an  end, 
The  many  old  producing  some  one  new, 
A  last  unlike  the  first.     If  lies  are  true, 
The  Caliph's  wheel- work  man  of  brass  receives 
A  meal,  munched  millet  grains  and  lettuce  leaves 
Together  in  his  stomach  rattle  loose  — 
You  find  them  perfect  next  day  to  produce ; 
But  ne'er  expect  the  man,  on  strength  of  that, 
Can  roll  an  iron  camel-collar  flat 
Like  Haroun's  self !     I  tell  you,  what  was  stored 


AND  THUS  GETS  THE  UTMOST  OUT  OF  HIM.   165 

Bit  by  bit  through  Sordello's  life,  outpoured 

That  eve,  was,  for  that  age,  a  novel  thing : 

And  round  those  three  the  people  formed  a  ring^ 

Of  visionary  judges  whose  award  . 

He  recognized  in  full  —  faces  that  barred 

Henceforth  return  to  the  old  careless  life, 

In  whose  great  presence,  therefore,  his  first  strife 

For  their  sake  must  not  be  ignobly  fought. 

All  these,  for  once,  approved  of  him,  he  thought, 

Suspended  their  own  vengeance,  chose  await 

The  issue  of  this  strife  to  reinstate 

Them  in  the  right  of  taking  it  —  in  fact 

He  must  be  proved  king  ere  they  could  exact 

Vengeance  for  such  king's  defalcation.     Last, 

A  reason  why  the  phrases  flowed  so  fast 

Was  in  his  quite  forgetting  for  a  time 

Himself  hi  his  amazement  that  the  rhyme 

Disguised  the  royalty  so  much :  he  there  — 

And  Salinguerra  —  and  yet  unaware 

Who  was  the  lord,  who  liegeman ! 

«  Thus  I  lay 

On  thine  my  spirit  and  compel  obey 
His  lord,  —  my  liegeman,  —  impotent  to  build 
Another  Rome,  but  hardly  so  unskilled 
In  what  such  builder  should  have  been,  as  brook 
One  shame  beyond  the  charge  that  I  forsook 
His  function !     Free  me  from  that  shame,  I  bend 
A  brow  before,  suppose  new  years  to  spend, 
Allow  each  chance,  nor  fruitlessly  recur  — 


166       HE   ASSERTS    THE    POET*S    RANK    AND    RIGHT, 

Measure  thee  with  the  Minstrel,  then,  demur 

At  any  crown  he  claims !     That  I  must  cede 

Shamed  now,  my  right  to  my  especial  meed  — 

Confess  thee  fitter  help  the  world  than  I 

Ordained  its  champion  from  eternity, 

Is  much :  but  to  behold  thee  scorn  the  post 

I  quit  in  thy  behalf —  to  hear  thee  boast 

What  makes  my  own  despair ! "     And  while  he  rung 

The  changes  on  this  theme,  the  roof  up-sprung, 

The  sad  walls  of  the  presence-chamber  died 

Into  the  distance,  or  embowering  vied 

With  far-away  Goito's  vine-frontier ; 

And  crowds  of  faces  —  (only  keeping  clear 

The  rose-light  in  the  midst,  his  vantage-ground 

To  fight  their  battle  from)  —  deep  clustered  round 

Sordello,  with  good  wishes  no  mere  breath, 

Kind  prayers  for  him  no  vapor,  since,  come  death, 

Come  life,  he  was  fresh-sinewed  every  joint, 

Each  bone  new-marrowed  as  whom  Gods  anoint 

Though  mortal  to  their  rescue :  now  let  sprawl 

The  snaky  volumes  hither !     Is  Typhon  all 

For  Hercules  to  trample  —  good  report 

From  Salinguerra  only  to  extort  ? 

"  So  was  I"  (closed  he  his  inculcating, 

A  poet  must  be  eartn's  essential  king) 

"  So  was  I,  royal  so,  and  if  I  fail, 

'T  is  not  the  royalty,  ye  witness  quail, 

But  one  deposed  who,  caring  not  exert 

Its  proper  essence,  trifled  malapert 


BASING   THESE    ON    THEIB   PROPER    GROUND,       167 

With  accidents  instead  —  good  things  assigned 

As  heralds  of  a  better  thing  behind  — 

And,  worthy  through  display  of  these,  put  forth 

Never  the  inmost  all-surpassing  worth 

That  constitutes  him  King  precisely  since 

As  yet  no  other  spirit  may  evince 

Its  like :  the  power  he  took  most  pride  to  test, 

Whereby  all  forms  of  life  had  been  professed 

At  pleasure,  forms  already  on  the  earth, 

Was  but  a  means  to  power  beyond,  whose  birth 

Should,  in  its  novelty,  be  kingship's  proof. 

Now,  whether  he  came  near  or  kept  aloof 

The  several  forms  he  longed  to  imitate, 

Not  there  the  kingship  lay,  he  sees  too  late. 

Those  forms,  unalterable  first  as  last, 

Proved  him  her  copier,  not  the  protoplast 

Of  nature  :  what  could  come  of  being  free 

By  action  to  exhibit  tree  for  tree, 

Bird,  beast,  for  beast  and  bird,  or  prove  earth  bore 

One  veritable  man  or  woman  more  ? 

Means  to  an  end,  such  proofs  are :  what  the  end  ? 

Let  essence,  whatsoe'er  it  be,  extend  — 

Never  contract !     Already  you  include 

The  multitude  ;  then  let  the  multitude 

Include  yourself;  and  the  result  were  new : 

Themselves  before,  the  multitude  turn  you. 

This  were  to  live  and  move  and  have,  in  them, 

Your  being,  and  secure  a  diadem 

Yuu  should  transmit  (because  no  cycle  yearns 


168         RECOGNIZING   TRUE    DIGNITY    IN    SERVICE, 

Beyond  itself,  but  on  itself  returns) 

When,  the  full  sphere  in  wane,  the  world  o'erlaid 

Long  since  with  you,  shall  have  in  turn  obeyed 

Some  orb  still  prouder,  some  displayer,  still 

More  potent  than  the  last,  of  human  will, 

And  some  new  King  depose  the  old.     Of  such 

Am  I  —  whom  pride  of  this  elates  too  much  ? 

Safe,  rather  say,  'mid  troops  of  peers  again ; 

I,  with  my  words,  hailed  brother  of  the  train 

Deeds  once  sufficed :  for,  let  the  world  roll  back, 

Who  fails,  through  deeds  howe'er  diverse,  re-track 

My  purpose  still,  my  task  ?     A  teeming  crust  — 

Air,  flame,  earth,  wave  at  conflict !     Then,  needs  must 

Emerge  some  Calm  embodied,  these  refer 

The  brawl  to ;  —  yellow-bearded  Jupiter  ? 

No !  Saturn ;  some  existence  like  a  pact 

And  protest  against  Chaos,  some  first  fact 

I'  the  faint  of  time.     My  deep  of  life,  I  know, 

Is  unavailing  e'en  to  poorly  show  "... 

(For  here  the  Chief  immeasurably  yawned) 

..."  Deeds  in  their  due  gradation  till  Song  dawned  — 

The  fullest  effluence  of  the  finest  mind, 

All  in  degree,  no  way  diverse  in  kind 

From  minds  about  it,  minds  which,  more  or  less 

Lofty  or  low,  move  seeking  to  impress 

Themselves  on  somewhat ;  but  one  mind  has  climbed 

Step  after  step,  by  just  ascent  sublimed. 

Thought  is  the  soul  of  act,  and,  stage  by  stage, 

Is  soul  from  body  still  to  disengage 


WHETHER    SUCCESSIVELY  THAT    OK    EPOIST,       169 

As  tending  to  a  freedom  which  rejects 
Such  help  and  incorporeally  affects 
The.  world,  producing  deeds  but  not  by  deeds, 
Swaying,  in  others,  frames  itself  exceeds, 
Assigning  them  the  simpler  tasks  it  used 
To  patiently  perform  till  Song  produced 
Acts,  by  thoughts  only,  for  the  mind :  divest 
Mind  of  e'en  Thought,  and,  lo,  God's  unexpressed 
Will  dawns  above  us !     All  then  is  to  win 
Save  that !     How  much  for  me,  then  ?  where  begin 
My  work  ?     About  me,  faces !  and  they  flock, 
The  earnest  faces !     What  shall  I  unlock 
By  song  ?  behold  me  prompt,  whate'er  it  be, 
To  minister :  how  much  can  mortals  see 
Of  Life  ?     No  more  than  so  ?  I  take  the  task 
And  marshal  you  Life's  elemental  masque, 
Show  Men,  on  evil  or  on  good  lay  stress, 
This  light,  this  shade  make  prominent,  suppress 
All  ordinary  hues  that  softening  blend 
Such  natures  with  the  level.     Apprehend 
Which  sinner  is,  which  saint,  if  I  allot 
Hell,  Purgatory,  Heaven,  a  blaze  or  blot, 
To  those  you  doubt  concerning !     I  enwomb 
Some  wretched  Friedrich  with  his  red-hot  tomb; 
Some  dubious  spirit,  Lombard  Agilulph 
With  the  black  chastening  river  I  engulph ; 
Some  unapproached  Matilda  I  enshrine 
With  languors  of  the  planet  of  decline  — 
These,  fiil  to  recognize,  to  arbitrate 
8 


170      DRAMATIST,    OB,    SO    TO    CALL    HIM,   ANALYST, 

Between  henceforth,  to  rightly  estimate 

Thus  marshalled  in  the  masque !     Myself,  the  while, 

As  one  of  you,  am  witness,  shrink  or  smile 

At  my  own  showing !     Next  age  —  what 's  to  do  ? 

The  men  and  women  stationed  hitherto 

Will  I  unstation,  good  and  bad,  conduct 

Each  nature  to  its  farthest,  or  obstruct 

At  soonest,  in  the  world :  light,  thwarted,  breaks 

A  limpid  purity  to  rainbow  flakes, 

Or  shadow,  massed,  freezes  to  gloom :  behold 

How  such,  with  fit  assistance  to  unfold, 

Or  obstacles  to  crush  them,  disengage 

Their  forms,  love,  hate,  hope,  fear,  peace  make,  war  wage, 

In  presence  of  you  all !     Myself,  implied 

Superior  now,  as,  by  the  platform's  side, 

I  bade  them  do  and  suffer,  —  would  last  content 

The  world  ...  no  —  that 's  too  far !     I  circumvent 

A  few,  my  masque  contented,  and  to  these 

Offer  unveil  the  last  of  mysteries  — 

Man's  inmost  life  shall  have  yet  freer  play : 

Once  more  I  cast  external  things  away, 

And  natures  composite,  so  decompose 

That"  .  .  .  Why,  he  writes  Sordello! 

"  How  I  rose, 

And  how  have  you  advanced  !  since  evermore 
Yourselves  effect  what  I  was  fain  before 
Effect,  what  I  supplied  yourselves  suggest, 
What  I  leave  bare  yourselves  can  now  invest. 
How  we  attain  to  talk  as  brothers  talk, 


WHO    TURNS    IN    DUE    COURSE    SYNTHETIST.       171 

fn  half-words,  call  things  by  half-names,  no  balk 

From  discontinuing  old  aids.     To-day 

Takes  in  account  the  work  of  Yesterday : 

Has  not  the  world  a  Past  now,  its  adept 

Consults  ere  he  dispense  with  or  accept 

New  aids  ?  a  single  touch  more  may  enhance, 

A  touch  less  turn  to  insignificance 

Those  structures'  symmetry  the  Past  has  strewed 

The  world  with,  once  so  bare.     Leave  the  mere  rude 

Explicit  details !  't  is  but  brother's  speech 

We  need,  speech  where  an  accent's  change  gives  each 

The  other's  soul  —  no  speech  to  understand 

By  former  audience :  need  was  then  to  expand, 

Expatiate  —  hardly  were  we  brothers !  true  — 

Nor  I  lament  my  small  remove  from  you, 

Nor  reconstruct  what  stands  already.     Ends 

Accomplished  turn  to  means  :  my  art  intends 

New  structure  from  the  ancient :  as  they  changed 

The  spoils  of  every  clime  at  Venice,  ranged 

The  horned  and  snouted  Libyan  god,  upright 

As  in  his  desert,  by  some  simple  bright 

Clay  cinerary  pitcher  —  Thebes  as  Rome, 

Athens  as  Byzant  rifled,  till  their  Dome 

From  earth's  reputed  consummations  razed 

A  seal,  the  all-transmuting  Triad  blazed 

Above.     Ah,  whose  that  fortune  ?  ne'erthelesa 

E'en  he  must  stoop  contented  to  express 

No  tithe  of  what 's  to  say  —  the  vehicle 

Never  sufficient :  but  his  work  is  still 


172     THIS    FOR    ONK    DAY:    NOW,    SERVE    AS    GUELF! 

For  faces  like  the  faces  that  select 

The  single  service  I  am  bound  effect, 

And  bid  me  cast  aside  such  fancies,  bow 

Taurello  to  the  Guelf  cause,  disallow 

The  Kaiser's  coming  —  which  with  heart,  soul,  strength, 

I  labor  for,  this  eve,  who  feel  at  length 

My  past  career's  outrageous  vanity, 

And  would,  as  it  amends,  die,  even  die 

Now  I  first  estimate  the  boon  of  life, 

If  death  might  win  compliance  —  sure,  this  strife 

Is  right  for  once  —  the  People  my  support." 

My  poor  Sordello !  what  may  we  extort 
By  this,  I  wonder  ?     Palma's  lighted  eyes 
Turned  to  Taurello  who,  long  past  surprise, 
Began,  "  You  love  him  —  what  you  'd  say  at  large 
Let  me  say  briefly.     First,  your  father's  charge 
To  me,  his  friend,  peruse :  I  guessed  indeed 
You  were  no  stranger  to  the  course  decreed. 
He  bids  me  leave  his  children  to  the  saints : 
As  for  a  certain  project,  he  acquaints 
The  Pope  with  that,  and  offers  him  the  best 
Of  your  possessions  to  permit  the  rest 
Go  peaceably  —  to  Ecelin,  a  stripe 
3f  soil  the  cursed  Vicentines  will  gripe, 
—  To  Alberic,  a  patch  the  Trevisan 
Clutches  already ;  extricate,  who  can, 
Treville,  Villarazzi,  Puissolo, 
Cartiglione,  Loria !  —  all  go, 
And  with  them  go  my  hopes.     T  is  lost,  then  !     Lost 


8ALINGUERRA,   DISLODGED   FROM   HIS   POST,      178 

jThis  eve,  our  crisis,  and  some  pains  it  cost 

Procuring ;  thirty  years  —  as  good  1  'd  spent 

Like  our  admonisher !     But  each  his  bent 

Pursues :  no  question,  one  might  live  absurd 

One's  self  this  while,  by  deed  as  he  by  word, 

Persisting  to  obtrude  an  influence  where 

T  is  made  account  of,  much  as  ...  nay,  you  fare 

With  twice  the  fortune,  youngster !  —  I  submit, 

Happy  to  parallel  my  waste  of  wit 

With  the  renowned  Sordello's :  you  decide 

A  course  for  me.     Romano  may  abide 

Romano,  —  Bacchus !    After  all,  what  dearth 

Of  Ecelins  and  Alberics  on  earth  ? 

Say  there  's  a  prize  in  prospect,  must  disgrace 

Betide  competitors,  unless  they  style 

Themselves  Romano  ?  were  it  worth  my  while 

To  try  my  own  luck !     But  an  obscure  place 

Suits  me  —  there  wants  a  youth  to  bustle,  stalk 

And  attitudinize  —  some  fight,  more  talk, 

Most  flaunting  badges  —  how,  I  might  make  clear, 

Since  Friedrich's  very  purposes  lie  here 

—  Here,  pity  they  are  like  to  lie !     For  me, 

With  station  fixed  unceremoniously 

Long  since,  small  use  contesting ;  I  am  but 

The  liegeman,  you  are  born  the  lieges  —  shut 

That  gentle  mouth  now !  or  resume  your  kin 

In  your  sweet  self;  were  Palma  Ecelin 

For  me  to  work  with  !     Could  that  neck  endure 

This  bauble  for  a  cumbrous  garniture, 


174       IN   MOVING,   OPENS   A   DOOE   TO    SORDELLO, 

She  should  ...  or  might  one  bear  it  for  her  ?     Stay  — 

I  have  not  been  so  flattered  many  a  day 

As  by  your  pale  friend  —  Bacchus  !     The  least  help 

Would  lick  the  hind's  fawn  to  a  lion's  whelp  — 

His  nack  is  broad  enough  —  a  ready  tongue 

Beside  —  too  writhled  —  but,  the  main  thing,  young  — 

I  could  . . .  why,  look  ye ! " 

And  the  badge  was  thrown 
Across  Sordello's  neck :  "  This  badge  alone 
Makes  you  Romano's  Head  —  becomes  superb 
On  your  bare  neck,  which  would,  on  mine,  disturb 
The  pauldron,"  said  Taurello.     A  mad  act, 
Not  even  dreamed  about  before  —  in  fact, 
Not  when  his  sportive  arm  rose  for  the  nonce  — 
But  he  had  dallied  overmuch,  this  once, 
With  power :  the  thing  was  done,  and  he,  aware 
The  thing  was  done,  proceeded  to  declare  — 
(So  like  a  nature  made  to  serve,  excel 
In  serving,  only  feel  by  service  well !) 
—  That  he  would  make  Sordello  that  and  more. 
"  As  good  a  scheme  as  any !     What 's  to  pore 
At  in  my  face  ?  "  he  asked  —  ponder  instead 
This  piece  of  news ;  you  are  Romano's  Head ! 
One  cannot  slacken  pace  so  near  the  goal, 
Suffer  my  Azzo  to  escape  heart-whole 
This  time !     For  you  there 's  Palma  to  espouse— 
For  me,  one  crowning  trouble  ere  I  house 
Like  my  compeer." 

On  which  ensued  a  strange 


WHO    IS    DECLARED    SALINGUERRA'S    SON.          175 

And  solemn  visitation ;  there  came  change 
O'er  every  one  of  them ;  each  looked  on  each : 
Up  in  the  midst  a  truth  grew,  without  speech. 
And  when  the  giddiness  sank  and  the  haze 
Subsided,  they  were  sitting,  no  amaze, 
Sordello  with  the  baldric  on,  his  sire 
Silent,  though  his  proportions  seemed  aspire 
Momently ;  and,  interpreting  the  thrill 
Nigh  at  its  ebb,  Palma  was  found  there  still 
Relating  somewhat  Adelaide  confessed 
A  year  ago,  while  dying  on  her  breast, — 
Of  a  contrivance  that  Vicenza  night, 
When  Ecelin  had  birth.     "  Their  convoy's  flight, 
Cut  off  a  moment,  coiled  inside  the  flame 
That  wallowed  like  a  dragon  at  his  game 
The  toppling  city  through  —  San  Biagio  rocks 
And  wounded  lies  in  her  delicious  locks 
Retrude,  the  frail  mother,  on  her  face, 
None  of  her  wasted,  just  in  one  embrace 
Covering  her  child :  when,  as  they  lifted  her, 
Cleaving  the  tumult,  mighty,  mightier 
And  mightiest  Taurello's  cry  outbroke, 
Leapt  like  a  tongue  of  fire  that  cleaves  the  smoke, 
Midmost  to  cheer  his  Mantuans  onward  —  drown 
His  colleague  Ecelin's  clamor,  up  and  down 
The  disarray :  failed  Adelaide  see  then 
Who  was  the  natural  cliief,  the  man  of  men  ? 
Outstripping  time,  her  infant  there  burst  swathe, 
Stood  up  with  eyes  haggard  beyond  the  scathe 


176       HIDDEN    HITHERTO    BY    ADELAIDE'S    POLICY. 

From  wandering  after  his  heritage 

Lost  once  and  lost  for  aye  —  and  why  that  rage. 

That  deprecating  glance  ?     A  new  shape  leant 

On  a  familiar  shape  —  gloatingly  bent 

O'er  his  discomfiture ;  'mid  wreaths  it  wore, 

Still  one  outflamed  the  rest  —  her  child's  before 

'T  was  Salinguerra's  for  his  child :  scorn,  hate 

Rage,  startled  her  from  Ecelin  —  too  late ! 

Then  was  the  moment !  rival's  foot  had  spurned 

Never  that  brow  to  earth !     Ere  sense  returned  — 

The  act  conceived,  adventured,  and  complete, 

They  bore  away  to  an  obscure  retreat 

Mother  and  child  —  Retrude's  self  not  slain  " 

(Nor  even  here  Taurello  moved)  "  though  pain 

Was  fled  ;  and  what  assured  them  most 't  was  fled, 

All  pain,  was,  if  they  raised  the  pale  hushed  head 

'T  would  turn  this  way  and  that,  waver  awhile, 

And  only  settle  into  its  old  smile  — 

(Graceful  as  the  disquieted  water-flag 

Steadying  itself,  remarked  they,  in  the  quag 

On  either  side  their  path)  —  when  suffered  look 

Down  on  her  child.     They  marched :  no  sign  once  shook 

The  company's  close  litter  of  crossed  spears 

Till,  as  they  reached  Goito,  a  few  tears 

Slipt  in  the  sunset  from  her  long  black  lash, 

And  she  was  gone.     So  far  the  action  rash  — 

No  crime.     They  laid  Retrude  in  the  font, 

Taurello's  very  gift,  ner  child  was  wont 

To  sit  beneath  —  constant  as  eve  he  came 


HOW   THE    DISCOVERY    MOVES    SAJLINGDERRA,       177 

To  sit  by  its  attendant  girls  the  same 

As  one  of  them.     For  Palma,  she  would  blend 

With  this  magnific  spirit  to  the  end, 

That  ruled  her  first  —  but  scarcely  had  she  dared 

To  disobey  the  Adelaide  who  scared 

Her  into  vowing  never  to  disclose 

A  secret  to  her  husband,  which  so  froze 

His  blood  at  half  recital,  she  contrived 

To  hide  from  him  Taurello's  infant  lived, 

Lest,  by  revealing  that,  himself  should  mar 

Romano's  fortunes.     And,  a  crime  so  far, 

Palma  received  that  action :  she  was  told 

Of  Salinguerra's  nature,  of  his  cold 

Calm  acquiescence  in  his  lot !     But  free 

To  impart  the  secret  to  Romano,  she 

Engaged  to  repossess  Sordello  of 

His  heritage,  and  hers,  and  that  way  doff 

The  mask,  but  after  years,  long  years !  —  while  now, 

Was  not  Romano's  sign-mark  on  that  brow  ?  " 

Across  Taurello's  heart  his  arms  were  locked :     • 
And  when  he  did  speak  't  was  as  if  he  mocked 
The  minstrel,  "  who  had  not  to  move,"  he  said, 
u  Not  stir  —  should  Fate  defraud  him  of  a  shred 
Of  his  son's  infancy  ?  much  less  of  his  youth ! " 
(Laughingly  all  this)  — "  which  to  aid,  in  truth, 
Himself,  reserved  on  purpose,  had  not  grown 
Old,  not  too  old  —  't  was  best  they  kept  alone 
Till  now,  and  never  idly  met  till  now  " ; 
—  Then,  in  the  same  breath,  told  Sordello  how 

6*  t 


178     AND    SOBDELLO    THE   FINALLY-DETERMINED, 

All  intimations  of  this  eve's  event 

Were  lies,  for  Friedrich  must  advance  to  Trent, 

Thence  to  Verona,  then  to  Rome,  there  stop, 

Tumble  the  Church  down,  institute  a-top 

The  Alps  a  Prefecture  of  Lombardy : 

—  "  That 's  now !  —  no  prophesying  what  may  be 

Anon,  with  a  new  monarch  of  the  clime, 

Native  of  Gesi,  passing  his  youth's  prime 

At  Naples.     Tito  bids  my  choice  decide 

On  whom  ..." 

"  Embrace  him,  madman ! "  Palma  cried, 
Who  through  the  laugh  saw  sweatdrops  burst  apace, 
And  his  lips'  blanching :  he  did  not  embrace 
Sordello,  but  he  laid  Bordello's  hand 
On  his  own  eyes,  mouth,  forehead. 

Understand, 

This  while  Sordello  was  becoming  flushed 
Out  of  his  whiteness :  thoughts  rushed,  fancies  rushed ; 
He  pressed  his  hand  upon  his  head  and  signed 
Both-  should  forbear  him.     "  Nay,  the  best 's  belu'nd ! " 
Taurello  laughed,  —  not  quite  with  the  same  laugh : 
h  The  truth  is,  thus  we  scatter,  ay,  like  chaff 
These  Guelfs,  a  despicable  monk  recoils 
From :  nor  expect  a  fickle  Kaiser  spoils 
Our  triumph  !  —  Friedrich  ?     Think  you,  I  intend 
Friedrich  shall  reap  the  fruits  of  blood  I  spend 
And  brain  I  waste  ?     Think  you,  the  people  clap 
Their  hands  at  my  out-hewing  this  wild  gap 
For  any  Friedrich  to  fill  up  ?     'T  is  mine  — 


THE    DEVIL    PUTTING    FORTH    HIS    POTENCY :     179 

That 's  yours :  I  tell  you,  towards  some  such  design 

Have  I  worked  blindly,  yes,  and  idly,  yes, 

And  for  another,  yes  —  but  worked  no  less 

With  instinct  at  my  heart ;  I  else  had  swerved, 

While  now  —  look  round !     My  cunning  has  preserved 

Samminiato  —  that 's  a  central  place 

Secures  us  Florence,  boy,  —  in  Pisa's  case, 

By  land  as  she  by  sea ;  with  Pisa  ours, 

And  Florence,  and  Pistoia,  one  devours 

The  land  at  leisure !     Gloriously  dispersed  — 

Brescia,  observe,  Milan,  Piacenza  first 

That  flanked  us  (ah,  you  know  not !)  in  the  March ; 

On  these  we  pile,  as  keystone  of  our  arch, 

Romagna  and  Bologna,  whose  first  span 

Covered  the  Trentine  and  the  Valsugan ; 

Sofia's  Egna  by  Bolgiano  's  sure !  "  .  . . 

So  he  proceeded :  half  of  all  this,  pure 

Delusion,  doubtless,  nor  the  rest  too  true, 

But  what  was  undone  he  felt  sure  to  do, 

As  ring  by  ring  he  wrung  off,  flung  away 

The  pauldron-rings  to  give  his  sword-arm  play  — 

Need  of  the  sword  now !     That  would  soon  adjust 

Aught  wrong  at  present ;  to  the  sword  intrust 

Sordello's  whiteness,  undersize :  't  was  plain 

He  hardly  rendered  right  to  his  own  brain  — 

Like  a  brave  hound,  men  educate  to  pride 

Himself  on  speed  or  scent  nor  aught  beside, 

As  though  he  could  not,  gift  by  gift,  match  men ! 

Palma  had  listened  patiently :  but  when 


180       SINCE    SOBDELLO,    WHO    BEGAN    BY    RHYMING, 

T  was  time  expostulate,  attempt  withdraw 

Taurello  from  his  child,  she,  without  awe 

Took  off  his  iron  arms  from,  one  by  one, 

Sordello's  shrinking  shoulders,  and,  that  done, 

Made  him  avert  his  visage  and  relieve 

Bordello  (you  might  see  his  corselet  heave 

The  while)  who,  loose,  rose  —  tried  to  speak,  then  sank 

They  left  him  in  the  chamber.     All  was  blank. 

And  even  reeling  down  the  narrow  stair 
Taurello  kept  up,  as  though  unaware 
Palma  was  by  to  guide  him,  the  old  device 
—  Something  of  Milan  —  "  how  we  muster  thrice 
The  Torriani's  strength  there  —  all  along 
Our  own  Visconti  cowed  them  "  —  thus  the  song 
Continued  even  while  she  bade  him  stoop, 
Thrid  somehow,  by  some  glimpse  of  arrow-loop, 
The  turnings  to  the  gallery  below, 
Where  he  stopped  short  as  Palma  let  him  go. 
When  he  had  sat  in  silence  long  enough 
Splintering  the  stone  bench,  braving  a  rebuff 
She  stopt  the  truncheon ;  only  to  commence 
One  of  Sordello's  poems,  a  pretence 
For  speaking,  some  poor  rhyme  of  "  Elys'  hair 
And  head  that 's  sharp  and  perfect  like  a  pear, 
So  smooth  and  close  are  laid  the  few  fine  locks 
Stained  like  pale  honey  oozed  from  topmost  rocks 
Sun-blanched  the  livelong  Summer  "  —  from  his  worst 
Performance,  the  Goito,  as  his  first  : 
And  that  at  end,  conceiving  from  the  brow 


MAY,   EYEN   FROM   THE   DEPTHS    OF    FAILURE,      181 

And  open  mouth  no  silence  would  serve  now, 
Went  on  to  say  the  whole  world  loved  that  man 
And,  for  that  matter,  thought  his  face,  tho'  wan, 
Eclipsed  the  Count's  —  he  sucking  in  each  phrase 
As  if  an  angel  spoke.     The  foolish  praise 
Ended,  he  drew  her  on  his  mailed  knees,  made 
Her  face  a  framework  with  his  hands,  a  shade, 
A  crown,  an  aureole :  there  must  she  remain 
(Her  little  mouth  compressed  with  smiling  pain 
As  in  his  gloves  she  felt  her  tresses  twitch) 
To  get  the  best  look  at,  in  fittest  niche 
Dispose  his  saint.     That  done,  he  kissed  her  brow, 

—  "  Lauded  her  father  for  his  treason  now," 
He  told  her,  "  only,  how  could  one  suspect 
The  wit  in  him  ?  —  whose  clansman,  recollect, 
Was  ever  Salinguerra  —  she,  the  same, 
Romano  and  his  lady  —  so,  might  claim 

To  know  all,  as  she  should  "  —  and  thus  begun 
Schemes  with  a  vengeance,  schemes  on  schemes, "  not  one 
Fit  to  be  told  that  foolish  boy,"  he  said, 
"  But  only  let  Sordello  Palma  wed, 

—  Then!" 

T  was  a  dim  long  narrow  place  at  best : 
Midway  a  sole  grate  showed  the  fiery  West, 
As  shows  its  corpse  the  world's  end  some  split  tomb  — 
A  gloom,  a  rift  of  fire,  another  gloom, 
Faced  Palma  —  but  at  length  Taurello  set 
Her  free  ;  the  grating  held  one  ragged  jet 
Of  fierce  gold  fire :  he  lifted  her  within 


182        YET    SPRING   TO    THE    SUMMIT    OF    SUCCESS, 

The  hollow  underneath  —  how  else  begin 

Fate's  second  marvellous  cycle,  else  renew 

The  ages  than  with  Palma  plain  in  view  ? 

Then  paced  the  passage,  hands  clenched,  head  erect, 

Pursuing  his  discourse  ;  a  grand  unchecked 

Monotony  made  out  from  his  quick  talk 

And  the  recurring  noises  of  his  walk ; 

—  Somewhat  too  much  like  the  o'ercharged  assent 

Of  two  resolved  friends  in  one  danger  blent, 

Who  hearten  each  the  other  against  heart  — 

Boasting  there 's  naught  to  care  for,  when,  apart 

The  boaster,  all 's  to  care  for.     He,  beside 

Some  shape  not  visible,  in  power  and  pride 

Approached,  out  of  the  dark,  ginglingly  near, 

Nearer,  passed  close  in  the  broad  light,  his  ear 

Crimson,  eyeballs  suffused,  temples  full-fraught, 

Just  a  snatch  of  the  rapid  speech  you  caught, 

And  on  he  strode  into  the  opposite  dark 

Till  presently  the  harsh  heel's  turn,  a  spark 

I'  the  stone,  and  whirl  of  some  loose  embossed  thong 

That  crashed  against  the  angle  aye  so  long 

After  the  last,  punctual  to  an  amount 

Of  mailed  great  paces  you  could  not  but  count,  — 

Prepared  you  for  the  pacing  back  again 

And  by  the  snatches  you  might  ascertain 

That,  Friedrich's  Prefecture  surmounted,  left 

By  this  alone  in  Italy,  they  cleft 

Asunder,  crushed  together,  at  command 

Of  none,  were  free  to  break  up  Hildebrand, 


IF    HE    CONSENT    TO    OPPRESS    THE    WORLD.        183 

Rebuild,  he  and  Sordello,  Charlemagne  — 

But  garnished,  Strength  with  Knowledge,  "  if  we  deign 

Accept  that  compromise  and  stoop  to  give 

Rome  law,  the  Caesars'  Representative." 

—  Enough   that  the  illimitable  flood 

Of  triumphs  after  triumphs,  understood 

In  its  faint  reflux  (you  shall  hear)  sufficed 

Young  Ecelin  for  appanage,  enticed 

Him  on  till,  these  long  quiet  in  their  graves, 

He  found  't  was  looked  for  that  a  whole  life's  braves 

Should  somehow  be  made  good  —  so,  weak  and  worn, 

Must  stagger  up  at  Milan,  one  gray  morn 

Of  the  To-Come,  and  fight  his  latest -fight. 

But,  Salinguerra's  prophecy  at  height  — 

He  voluble  with  a  raised  arm  and  stiff, 

A  blaring  voice,  a  blazing  eye,  as  if 

He  had  our  very  Italy  to  keep 

Or  cast  away,  or  gather  in  a  heap 

To  garrison  the  better  —  ay,  his  word 

Was,  "  run  the  cucumber  into  a  gourd, 

Drive  Trent  upon  Apulia  "  —  at  their  pitch 

Who  spied  the  continents  and  islands  which 

Grew  mulberry-leaves  and  sickles,  in  the  map  — 

(Strange  that  three  such  confessions  so  should  hap 

To  Palma,  Dante  spoke  with  in  the  clear 

Amorous  silence  of  the  Swooning-sphere,  — 

Cunizza,  as  he  called  her !     Never  ask 

Of  Palma  more !     She  sat,  knowing  her  task 

Was  done,  the  labor  of  it  —  for,  success, 


184      JUST    THIS    DECIDED,    AND    WE    HAVE    DONE. 

Concerned  not  Palma,  passion's  votaries) 

Triumph  at  height,  and  thus  Sordello  crowned  — 

Above  the  passage  suddenly  a  sound 

Stops  speech,  stops  walk :  back  shrinks  Taurello,  bids 

With  large  involuntary  asking  lids, 

Palma  interpret.     "  'T  is  his  own  foot-stamp  — 

Your  hand !     His  summons !     Nay,  this  idle  damp 

Befits  not ! "     Out  they  two  reeled  dizzily. 

w  Visconti  's  strong  at  Milan,"  resumed  he, 

In  the  old,  somewhat  insignificant  way  — 

(Was  Palma  wont,  years  afterward,  to  say) 

As  though  the  spirit's  flight,  sustained  thus  far, 

Dropped  at  that  very  instant.     Gone  they  are  — 

Palma,  Taurello ;  Eglamor  anon, 

Ecelin,  —  only  Naddo  's  never  gone ! 

—  Labors,  this  moonrise,  what  the  Master  meant 

u  Is  Squarcialupo  speckled  ?  —  purulent, 

I  'd  say,  but  when  was  Providence  put  out  ? 

He  carries  somehow  handily  about 

His  spite  nor  fouls  himself ! "     Goito's  vines 

Stand  like  a  cheat  detected  —  stark  rough  lines, 

The  moon  breaks  through,  a  gray  mean  scale  against 

The  vault  where,  this  eve's  Maiden,  thou  remain'st 

Like  some  fresh  martyr,  eyes  fixed  —  who  can  tell  ? 

As  Heaven,  now  all 's  at  end,  did  not  so  well, 

Spite  of  the  faith  and  victory,  to  leave 

Its  virgin  quite  to  death  in  the  lone  eve. 

While  the  persisting  hermit-bee   ...  ha !  wait 

No  longer  —  these  in  compass,  forward  fate  ! 


BOOK    THE    SIXTH. 

AT    THE    CLOSE    OF   A    DAT    OR   A    LIFE, 

THE  thought  of  Eglamor  's  least  like  a  thought, 

And  yet  a  false  one,  was,  "  Man  shrinks  to  naught 

If  matched  with  symbols  of  immensity  — 

Must  quail,  forsooth,  before  a  quiet  sky 

Or  sea,  too  little  for  their  quietude  " : 

And,  truly,  somewhat  in  Sordello's  mood 

Confirmed  its  speciousness,  while  eve  slow  sank 

Down  the  near  terrace  to  the  farther  bank, 

And  only  one  spot  left  out  of  the  night 

Glimmered  upon  the  river  opposite  — 

A  breadth  of  watery  heaven  like  a  bay, 

A  sky-like  space  of  water,  ray  for  ray, 

And  star  for  star,  one  richness  where  they  mixed 

As  this  and  that  wing  of  an  angel,  fixed, 

Tumultuary  splendors  folded  in 

To  die.     Nor  turned  he  till  Ferrara's  din 

(Say,  the  monotonous  speech  from  a  man's  lip 

Who  lets  some  first  and  eager  purpose  slip 

In  a  new  fancy's  birth ;  the  speech  keeps  on 

Though  elsewhere  its  informing  soul  be  gone) 

—  Aroused  him,  —  surely  offered  succor.     Fate 

Paused  with  this  eve  ;  ere  she  precipitate 

Herself,  —  put  off  strange  after-thoughts  awhile, 

That  voice,  those  large  hands,  thai  portentous  smile,  • 


186       PAST    PROCEDURE    IS    FITLIEST    REVIEWED, 

What  help  to  pierce  the  Future  as  the  Past, 
Lay  hi  the  plaining  city  ? 

And  at  last 

The  main  discovery  and  prime  concern, 
All  that  just  now  imported  him  to  learn, 
His  truth,  like  yonder  slow  moon  to  complete 
Heaven,  rose  again,  and,  naked  at  his  feet, 
Lighted  his  old  life's  every  shift  and  change, 
Effort  with  counter-effort ;  nor  the  range 
Of  each  looked  wrong  except  wherein  it  checked, 
Some  other  —  which  of  these  could  he  suspect, 
Prying  into  them  by  the  sudden  blaze  ? 
The  real  way  seemed  made  up  of  all  the  ways  — 
Mood  after  mood  of  the  one  mind  in  him  ; 
Tokens  of  the  existence,  bright  or  dim, 
Of  a  transcendent  all-embracing  sense 
Demanding  only  outward  influence, 
A  soul,  hi  Palma's  phrase,  above  his  soul, 
Power  to  uplift  his  power,  —  this  moon's  control, 
Over  the  sea-depths,  —  and  their  mass  had  swept 
Onward  from  the  beginning  and  still  kept 
Its  course  :  but  years  and  years  the  sky  above 
Held  none,  and  so,  untasked  of  any  love, 
His  sensitiveness  idled,  now  amort, 
Alive  now,  and  to  sullenness  or  sport 
Given  wholly  up,  disposed  itself  anew 
At  every  passing  instigation,  grew 
A.nd  dwindled  at  caprice,  in  foam-showers  spilt, 
Wedge-like  insisting,  quivered  now  a  gilt 


AS    MORE    APPRECIABLE    IN    ITS    ENTIRETY.        187 

Shield  in  the  sunshine,  now  a  blinding  race 
Of  whitest  ripples  o'er  the  reef —  found  place 
For  much  display ;  not  gathered  up  and,  hurled 
Right  from  its  heart,  encompassing  the  world. 
So  had  Sordello  been,  by  consequence, 
Without  a  function :  others  made  pretence 
To  strength  not  half  his  own,  yet  had  some  core 
Within,  submitted  to  some  moon,  before 
Them  still,  superior  still  whate'er  their  force,  — 
Were  able  therefore  to  fulfil  a  course, 
Nor  missed  life's  crown,  authentic  attribute. 
To  each  who  lives  must  be  a  certain  fruit 
Of  having  lived  in  his  degree,  —  a  stage, 
Earlier  or  later  in  men's  pilgrimage, 
To  stop  at ;  and  to  this  the  spirits  tend 
Who,  still  discovering  beauty  without  end, 
Amass  the  scintillations,  make  one  star 

—  Something  unlike  them,  self-sustained,  afar,  — 
And  meanwhile  nurse  the  dream  of  being  blest 
By  winning  it  to  notice  and  invest 

Their  souls  with  alien  glory,  some  one  day 
Whene'er  the  nucleus,  gathering  shape  alway, 
Round  to  the  perfect  circle  —  soon  or  late, 
According  as  themselves  are  formed  to  wait ; 
Whether  mere  human  beauty  will  suffice 

—  The  yellow  hair  and  the  luxurious  eyes, 
Or  human  intellect  seem  best,  or  each 
Combine  in  some  ideal  form  past  reach 

On  earth,  or  else  some  shade  of  these,  some  aim, 


188      STRONG,    HE    NEEDED    EXTEUNAL    STUENGTH  : 

Some  love,  hate  even,  take  their  place,  the  same, 

And  may  be  served  —  all  this  they  do  not  lose, 

Waiting  for  death  to  live,  nor  idly  choose 

What  must  be  Hell  —  a  progress  thus  pursued 

Through  all  existence,  still  above  the  food 

That 's  offered  them,  still  towering  beyond 

The  widened  range,  in  virtue  of  their  bond 

Of  sovereignty.     Not  that  a  Palma's  Love, 

A  Salinguerra's  Hate,  would  equal  prove 

To  swaying  all  Sordello :  wherefore  doubt, 

That  Love  meet  for  such  Strength,  some  moon  without 

Would  match  his  sea  ?  —  or  fear,  Good  manifest, 

Only  the  Best  breaks  faith  ?  —  Ah,  but  the  Best 

Somehow  eludes  us  ever,  still  might  be 

And  is  not !  crave  we  gems  ?  no  penury 

Of  their  material  round  us  !  pliant  earth, 

The  plastic  flame  —  what  balks  the  mage  his  birth 

—  Jacynth  in  balls,  or  lodestone  by  the  block  ? 

Flinders  enrich  the  strand,  and  veins  the  rock  — 

Naught  more !     Ask  creatures  ?     Life 's  i'  the  tempest 

Thought 

Clothes  the  keen  hill-top,  midday  woods  are  fraught 
With  fervors :  ah,  these  forms  are  well  enough ! 
But  we  had  hoped,  encouraged  by  the  stuff 
Profuse  at  Nature's  pleasure,  men  beyond 
These  men !  and  thus,  perchance,  are  over-fond 
In  arguing,  from  Good  the  Best,  from  force 
Divided  —  force  combined,  an  ocean's  course 
From  this  our  sea  whose  mere  intestine  pants 


EVEN    NOW,    WHERE    CAN    HE    PERCEIVE    SUCH?     189 

Might  seem  at  times  sufficient  to  our  wants. 
• —  External  Power  ?    If  none  be  adequate 
And  he  stand  forth  ordained  (a  prouder  fate) 
A  law  to  his  own  sphere  ?  —  need  to  remove 
All  incompleteness,  for  that  law,  that  love  ? 
Nay,  if  all  other  laws  be  such,  though  veiled 
In  mercy  to  each  vision  that  had  failed 
If  unassisted  by  its  want,  —  for  lure, 
Embodied  ?     Stronger  vision  could  endure 
The  unbodied  want :  no  bauble  for  a  truth ! 
The  People  were  himself;  and,  by  the  ruth 
At  their  condition,  was  he  less  impelled 
To  alter  the  discrepancy  beheld, 
Than  if,  from  the  sound  Whole,  a  sickly  Part 
Subtracted  were  transformed,  decked  out  with  art, 
Then  palmed  on  him  as  alien  woe  —  the  Guelf 
To  succor,  proud  that  he  forsook  himself? 
No!  All's  himself;  all  service,  therefore,  rates 
Alike,  nor  serving  one  part,  immolates 
The  rest :  but  all  in  time !    "  That  lance  of  yours 
Makes  havoc  soon  with  Malek  and  his  Moors, 
That  buckler 's  lined  with  many  a  giant's  beard 
Ere  long,  O  champion,  be  the  lance  upreared, 
The  buckler  wielded  handsomely  as  now ! 
But  view  your  escort,  bear  in  mind  your  vow, 
Count  the  pale  tracts  of  sand  to  pass  ere  that, 
And,  if  you  hope  we  struggle  through  the  flat, 
Put  lance  and  buckler  by !     Next  half-month  lacks 
Mere  sturdy  exercise  of  mace  and  axe 


190      INTERNAL    STRENGTH   MUST   SUFFICE   THEN, 

To  cleave  this  dismal  brake  of  prickly-pear 
Which  bristling  holds  Cydippe  by  the  hair, 
Lames  barefoot  Agathon :  this  felled,  we  '11  try 
The  picturesque  achievements  by  and  by  — 
Next  life ! " 

Ay,  rally,  mock,  O  People,  urge 
Your  claims !  —  for  thus  he  ventured,  to  the  verge, 
Push  a  vain  mummery  which  perchance  distrust 
Of  his  fast-slipping  resolution  thrust 
Likewise :  accordingly  the  Crowd  —  as  yet 
He  had  inconsciously  contrived  forget 
F    the  whole,   to  dwell  o'  the    points . . .  one    *night 

assuage 

The  signal  horrors  easier  than  engage 
With  a  dim  vulgar  vast  unobvious  grief 
Not  to  be  fancied  off,  nor  gained  relief 
In  brilliant  fits,  cured  by  a  happy  quirk, 
But  by  dim  vulgar  vast  unobvious  work 
To  correspond  .  .  .  this  Crowd  then,  forth  they  stood. 
"  And  now  content  thy  stronger  vision,  brood 
On  thy  bare  want ;  uncovered,  turf  by  turf, 
Study  the  corpse-face  thro'  the  taint-worms'  scurf ! " 

Down  sank  the  People's  Then ;  uprose  their  Nov- 
These  sad  ones  render  service  to !     And  how 
Piteously  little  must  that  service  prove 
—  Had  surely  proved  in  any  case !  for,  move 
Each  other  obstacle  away,  let  youth 
Have  been  aware  it  had  surprised  a  truth 
T  were  service  to  impart  —  can  truth  be  seized, 


HIS    SYMPATHY    WITH   THE   PEOPLE,  TO    WIT;      191 

Settled  forthwith,  and,  of  the  captive  eased, 

Its  captor  find  fresh  prey,  since  this  alit 

So  happily,  no  gesture  luring  it, 

The  earnest  of  a  flock  to  follow  ?    Vain, 

Most  vain !  a  life 's  to  spend  ere  this  he  chain, 

To  the  poor  crowd's  complacence ;  ere  the  crowd 

Pronounce  it  captured,  he  descries  a  cloud 

Its  kin  of  twice  the  plume  —  which  he,  in  turn, 

If  he  shall  live  as  many  lives,  may  learn 

How  to  secure  —  not  else.     Then  Mantua  called 

Back  to  his  mind  how  certain  bards  were  thralled 

—  Buds  blasted,  but  of  breath  more  like  perfume 
Than  Naddo's  staring  nosegay's  carrion  bloom : 
Some  insane  rose  that  burnt  heart  out  in  sweets, 
A  spendthrift  in  the  Spring,  no  Summer  greets  — 
Some  Dularete,  drunk  with  truths  and  wine, 
Grown  bestial,  dreaming  how  become  divine. 

"  Yet  to  surmount  this  obstacle,  commence 

With  the  commencement,  merits  crowning !     Hence 

Must  truth  be  casual  truth,  elicited 

In  sparks  so  mean,  at  intervals  dispread 

So  rarely,  that 't  is  like  at  no  one  time 

Of  the  world's  story  has  not  truth,  the  prime 

Of  truth,  the  very  truth  which,  loosed,  had  hurled 

The  world's  course  right,  been  really  in  the  world 

—  Content  the  while  with  some  mean  spark  by  dint 
Of  some  chance-blow,  the  solitary  hint 

Of  buried  fire,  which,  rip  its  breast,  would  stream 
Sky-ward ! " 


192      OF    WHICH,    TRY    NOW    THE    INHERENT    FORCE! 

Sordello's  miserable  gleam 
Was  looked  for  at  the  moment :  he  would  dash 
This  badge,  and  all  it  brought,  to  earth,  —  abash 
Taurello  thus,  perhaps  persuade  him  wrest 
The  Kaiser  from  his  purpose,  —  would  attest 
His  own  belief,  in  any  case.     Before 
He  dashes  it,  however,  think  once  more ! 
For,  were  that  little,  truly  service  ?     "  Ay  — 
I'  the  end,  no  doubt ;  but  meantime  ?     Plain  you  spy 
Its  ultimate  effect,  but  many  flaws 
Of  vision  blur  each  intervening  cause. 
Were  the  day's  fraction  clear  as  the  life's  sum 
Of  service,  Now  as  filled  as  the  To-come 
With  evidence  of  good  —  nor  too  minute 
A  share  to  vie  with  evil !     No  dispute, 
'T  were  fitliest  maintain  the  Guelfs  in  rule  : 
That  makes  your  life's  work :  but  you  have  to  school 
Your  day's  work  on  these  natures  circumstanced 
Thus  variously,  which  yet,  as  each  advanced 
Or  might  impede  the  Guelf  rule,  must  be  moved 
Now,  for  the  Then's  sake,  —  hating  what  you  loved, 
Loving  old  hatreds !  nor  if  one  man  bore 
Brand  upon  temples  while  his  fellow  wore 
The  aureole,  would  it  task  you  to  decide  — 
But,  portioned  duly  out,  the  Future  vied 
Never  with  the  unparcelled  Present !     Smite 
Or  spare  so  much  on  warrant  all  so  slight  ? 
The  Present's  complete  sympathies  to  break, 
Aversions  bear  with,  for  a  Future's  sake 


HOW    MUCH    OF    MAN'S    ILL    MAY   BE    REMOVED?     198 

So  feeble  ?    Tito  ruined  through  one  speck, 

The  .Legate  saved  by  his  sole  lightish  fleck  ? 

This  were  work,  true  —  but  work  performed  at  cost 

Of  other  work  —  aught  gained  here,  elsewhere  lost. 

For  a  new  segment  spoil  an  orb  half  done  ? 

Rise  with  the  People  one  step,  and  sink  —  one  ? 

Were  it  but  one  step  —  less  than  the  whole  face 

Of  things,  your  novel  duty  bids  erase ! 

Harms  to  abolish !  what  ?  the  prophet  saith, 

The  minstrel  singeth  vainly  then  ?     Old  faith, 

Old  courage,  only  born  because  of  harms, 

Were  not,  from  highest  to  the  lowest,  charms  ? 

Flame  may  persist  but  is  not  glare  as  stanch  ? 

Where  the  salt  marshes  stagnate,  crystals  branch  — 

Blood  dries  to  crimson  —  Evil 's  beautified 

In  every  shape.     Thrust  Beauty  then  aside 

And  banish  Evil !  wherefore  ?    After  all, 

Is  Evil  a  result  less  natural 

Than  Good  ?     For,  overlook  the  seasons'  strife 

With  tree  and  flower,  —  the  hideous  animal  life, 

(Of  which  who  seeks  shall  find  a  grinning  taunt 

For  his  solution,  and  endure  the  vaunt 

Of  nature's  angel,  as  a  child  that  knows 

Himself  befooled,  unable  to  propose 

Aught  better  than  the  fooling)  —  and  but  care 

For  Men,  for  the  mere  People  then  and  there, — 

In  these,  could  you  but  see  that  Good  and  HI 

Claimed  you  alike !     Whence  rose  their  claim  but  still 

From  HI,  as  fruit  of  111  —  what  else  could  knit 


194  HOW  MUCH  OF  ILL  OUGHT  TO  BE  REMOVED  I 

You  theirs  but  Sorrow  ?     Any  free  from  it 

Were  also  free  from  you !     Whose  happiness 

Could  be  distinguished  in  this  morning's  press 

Of  miseries  ?  —  the  fool's  who  passed  a  gibe 

'  On  thee,'  jeered  he, '  so  wedded  to  thy  tribe, 

Thou  earnest  green  and  yellow  tokens  in 

Thy  very  face  that  thou  art  Ghibellin ! '  — 

Much  hold  on  you  that  fool  obtained  !     Nay  mount 

Yet  higher  —  and  upon  men's  own  account 

Must  Evil  stay :  for,  what  is  Joy  ?  —  to  heave 

Up  one  obstruction  more,  and  common  leave 

What  was  peculiar  —  by  such  act  destroy 

Itself;  a  partial  death  is  every  joy  ; 

The  sensible  escape,  enfranchisement 

Of  a  sphere's  essence :  once  the  vexed  —  content, 

The  cramped  —  at  large,  the  growing  circle  —  round, 

All 's  to  begin  again  —  some  novel  bound 

To  break,  some  new  enlargement  to  entreat, 

The  sphere  though  larger  is  not  more  complete. 

Now  for  Mankind's  experience :  who  alone 

Might  style  the  unobstructed  world  his  own  ? 

Whom  palled  Goito  with  its  perfect  things  ? 

Sordello's  self!  whereas  for  mankind  springs 

Salvation  by  each  hindrance  interposed  ; 

They  climb,  life's  view  is  not  at  once  disclosed 

To  creatures  caught  up,  on  its  summit  left, 

Heaven  plain  above  them,  yet  of  wings  bereft  — 

But  lower  laid,  as  at  the  mountain's  foot, 

While,  range  on  range,  the  girdling  forests  shoot 


IF   REMOVED,    AT    WHAT    COST   TO    BORDELLO?     195 

Twixt  your  plain  prospect  and  the  throngs  who  scale 
Height  after  height,  and  pierce  mists,  veil  by  veil, 
Heartened  with  each  discovery ;  in  their  soul, 
The  Whole  they  seek  by  Parts  —  but,  found  that  Who 
Could  they  revert,  enjoy  past  gains  ?     The  space 
Of  time  you  judge  so  meagre  to  embrace 
The  Parts,  were  more  than  plenty,  once  attained 
The  Whole,  to  quite  exhaust  it :  naught  were  gained 
But  leave  to  look  —  not  leave  to  do :  Beneath 
Soon  sates  the  looker  —  look  Above,  and  Death 
Tempts  ere  a  tithe  of  Life  be  tasted.     Live 
.  First,  and  die  soon  enough,  Sordello !     Give 
Body  and  spirit  the  first  right  they  claim, 
And  pasture  thee  on  a  voluptuous  shame 
That  thou,  a  pageant-city's  denizen, 
Art  neither  vilely  lodged  midst  Lombard  men  — 
Canst  force  joy  out  of  sorrow,  seem  to  truck 
Thine  attributes  away  for  sordid  muck, 
Yet  manage  from  that  very  muck  educe 
Gold ;  then  subject,  nor  scruple,  to  thy  cruce 
The  world's  discardings !     Though  real  ingots  pay 
Thy  pains,  the  clods  that  yielded  them  are  clay 
To  all  save  thee,  —  would  clay  remain,  though  quenched 
Thy    purging-fire ;    who  's    robbed    then  ?     Had    you 

wrenched 

An  ampler  treasure  forth !  —  As  't  is,  they  crave 
A  share  that  ruins  you  and  will  not  save 
Them.     Why  should  sympathy  command  you  quit 
The  course  that  makes  your  joy,  nor  will  remit 


L96     MEN    WIN    LITTLE    THEREBY;    HE    LOSES    ALL! 

Their  woe  ?     Would  all  arrive  at  joy  ?     Reverse 

The  order  (time  instructs  you)  nor  coerce 

Each  unit  till,  some  predetermined  mode, 

The  total  be  emancipate ;  men's  road 

Is  one,  men's  times  of  travel  many ;  thwart 

No  enterprising  soul's  precocious  start 

Before  the  general  march  !  if  slow  or  fast 

All  straggle  up  to  the  same  point  at  last, 

Why  grudge  your  having  gained,  a  month  ago, 

The  brakes  at  balm-shed,  asphodels  in  blow, 

While  they  were  landlocked  ?   Speed  there  Then,  but  how 

This  badge  would  suffer  you  improve  your  Now ! ' " 

His  time  of  action  for,  against,  or  with 
Our  world  (I  labor  to  extract  the  pith 
Of  this  his  problem)  grew,  that  even-tide, 
Gigantic  with  its  power  of  joy,  beside 
The  world's  eternity  of  impotence 
To  profit  though  at  his  whole  joy's  expense. 
"  Make  nothing  of  my  day  because  so  brief? 
Rather  make  more  —  instead  of  joy,  use  grief 
Before  its  novelty  have  time  /subside  ! 
Wait  not  for  the  late  savour  —  leave  untried 
Virtue,  the  creaming  honey-wine,  quick  squeeze 
Vice  like  a  biting  spirit  from  the  lees 
Of  life !  —  together  let  wrath,  hatred,  lust, 
AH  tyrannies  in  every  shape,  be  thrust 
Upon  this  Now,  which  time  may  reason  out 
As  mischiefs,  far  from  benefits,  no  doubt  — 
But  long  ere  then  Sordello  will  have  slipt 


FOB   HE   CAN   INFINITELY   ENJOY   HIMSELF,       197 

Away  —  you  teach  him  at  Goito's  crypt, 

There 's  a  blank  issue  to  that  fiery  thrill ! 

Stirring,  the  few  cope  with  the  many,  still : 

So  much  of  sand  as,  quiet,  makes  a  mass 

Unable  to  produce  three  tufts  of  grass, 

Shall,  troubled  by  the  whirlwind,  render  void 

The  whole  calm  glebe's  endeavor :  be  employed ! 

And  e'en  though  somewhat  smart  the  Crowd  for  this, 

Contribute  each  his  pang  to  make  your  bliss, 

T  is  but  one  pang  —  one  blood-drop  to  the  bowl 

Which  brimful  tempts  the  sluggish  asp  uncowl 

At  last,  stains  ruddily  the  dull  red  cape, 

And,  kindling  orbs  gray  as  the  unripe  grape 

Before,  avails  forthwith  to  disentrance 

The  portent  —  soon  to  lead  a  mystic  dance 

Among  you  J     For,  who  sits  alone  in  Rome  ? 

Have  those  great  hands  indeed  hewn  out  a  home, 

And  set  me  there  to  live  ?     O  life,  life-breath, 

Life-blood,  —  ere  sleep,  come  travail,  life  ere  death  I 

This  life  stream  on  my  soul,  direct,  oblique, 

But  always  streaming !     Hindrances?     They  pique -^ 

Helps  ?  such  .  . .  but  why  repeat,  my  soul  o'ertops 

Each  height,  than  every  depth  profoundlier  drops  ? 

Enough  that  I  can  live,  and  would  live !     Wait 

For  some  transcendent  life  reserved  by  Fate 

To  follow  this  ?     O,  never !     Fate,  I  trust 

The  same,  my  soul  to ;  for,  as  who  flings  dust, 

Perchance  —  so  facile  was  the  deed,  she  checked 

The  void  with  these  materials  to  affect 


198     FREED    FROM   A   PROBLEMATIC    OBLIGATION. 

My  soul  diversely  —  these  consigned  anew 

To  naught  by  death,  what  marvel  if  she  threw 

A  second  and  superber  spectacle 

Before  it  ?     What  may  serve  for  sun  —  what  still 

Wander  a  moon  above  me  —  what  else  wind 

About  me  like  the  pleasures  left  behind, 

And  how  shall  some  new  flesh  that  is  not  flesh 

Cling  to  me  ?  what 's  new  laughter  —  soothes  the  fresh 

Sleep  like  sleep  ?     Fate's  exhaustless  for  my  sake 

In  brave  resource,  but  whether  bids  she  slake 

My  thirst  at  this  first  rivulet,  or  count 

No  draught  worth  lip  save  from  the  rocky  fount 

Above  i'  the  clouds,  while  here  she  's  provident 

Of  pure  loquacious  pearl,  the  soft  tree-tent 

Guards,  with  its  face  of  reate  and  sedge,  nor  fail 

The  silver  globules  and  gold-sparkling  grail 

At  bottom.     0,  't  were  too  absurd  to  slight 

For  the  hereafter  the  to-day's  delight ! 

Quench  thirst  at  this,  then  seek  next  well-spring  —  weal 

Home-lilies  ere  strange  lotus  in  my  hair ! 

Here  is  the  Crowd,  whom  I  with  freest  heart 

Offer  to  serve,  contented  for  my  part 

To  give  life  up  in  service,  —  only  grant 

That  I  do  serve ;  if  otherwise,  why  want 

Aught  further  of  me  ?     If  men  cannot  choose 

But  set  aside  life,  why  should  I  refuse 

The  gift  ?     I  take  it  —  I,  for  one,  engage 

Never  to  falter  through  my  pilgrimage  — 

Nor  end  it  howling  that  the  stock  or  stone 


AND    ACCEPTING    LIFE   ON    ITS    OWN   TERMS,      199 

Were  enviable,  truly :  I,  for  one, 

Will  praise  the  world,  you  style  mere  anteroom 

To  the  palace  —  be  it  so !  shall  I  assume 

—  My  foot  the  courtly  gait,  my  tongue  the  trope, 
My  mouth  the  smirk,  before  the  doors  fly  ope 

One  moment  ?     What  —  with  guarders  row  on  row, 

Gay  swarms  of  varletry  that  come  and  go, 

Pages  to  dice  with,  waiting-girls  unlace 

The  plackets  of,  pert  claimants  help  displace, 

Heart-heavy  suitors  get  a  rank  for,  —  laugh 

At  yon  sleek  parasite,  break  his  own  staff 

'Cross  Beetle-brows  the  Usher's  shoulder,  —  why, 

Admitted  to  the  presence  by  and  by, 

Should  thought  of  having  lost  these  make  me  grieve 

Among  new  joys  I  reach,  for  joys  I  leave  ? 

—  Cool  citrine-crystals,  fierce  pyropus-stone, 
Are  floor-work  here !  —  But  did  I  let  alone 
That  black-eyed  peasant  in  the  vestibule 

Once  and  forever  ?  —  Floor-work  ?     No  such  fool  I 
Rather,  were  heaven  to  forestall  earth,  I  'd  say 
I,  is  it,  must  be  blessed  ?     Then,  my  own  way 
Bless  me  !  give  firmer  arm  and  fleeter  foot, 
[  '11  thank  you  :  but  to  no  mad  wings  transmute 
These  limbs  of  mine  —  our  greensward  was  so  soft  I 
Nor  camp  I  on  the  thunder-cloud  aloft : 
We  feel  the  bliss  distin'jtlier,  having  thus 
Engines  subservient,  not  mixed  up  with  us. 
Better  move  palpably  through  heaven  —  nor,  freed 
Of  flesh,  forsooth,  ^-om  space  to  space  proceed 


200     WHICH,    YET,    OTHERS    HA.VE    RENOUNCED  :    HOW? 

"Mid  flying  synods  of  worlds !     No !     In  heaven's  marge 
Show  Titan  still,  recumbent  o'er  his  targe 
Solid  with  stars  —  the  Centaur  at  his  game, 
Made  tremulously  out  in  hoary  flame ! 

Life  !     Yet  the  very  cup  whose  extreme  dull 
Dregs,  even,  I  would  quaff,  was  dashed,  at  full, 
Aside  so  oft ;  the  death  I  fly,  revealed 
So  oft  a  better  life  this  life  concealed, 
And  which  sage,  champion,  martyr,  through  each  path 
Have  hunted  fearlessly  —  the  horrid  bath, 
The  crippling-irons  and  the  fiery  chair. 

—  'T  was  well  for  them ;  let  me  become  aware 
As  they,  and  I  relinquish  life,  too !     Let 
What  masters  life  disclose  itself !     Forget 
Vain  ordinances,  I  have  one  appeal  — 

I  feel,  am  what  I  feel,  know  what  I  feel 

—  So  much  is  truth  to  me.     What  Is,  then  ?     Since 
One  object,  viewed  diversely,  may  evince 

Beauty  and  ugliness  —  this  way  attract, 

That  way  repel,  why  glozc  upon  the  fact  ? 

WTiy  must  a  single  of  the  sides  be  right  ? 

What  bids  choose  this  and  leave  the  opposite  ? 

Where 's  abstract  Right  for  me  ?  —  in  youth  endued 

With  Right  still  present,  still  to  be  pursued, 

Thro'  all  the  interchange  of  circles,  rife 

Each  with  its  proper  law  and  mode  of  life, 

Euch  to  be  dwelt  at  ease  in :  where,  to  sway 

A.bsolute  with  the  Kaiser,  or  obey 

Implicit  with  his  serf  of  fluttering  heart, 


BECAUSE    THERE    IS    A    LIFE    BEYOND    LIFE,       201 

Or,  like  a  sudden  thought  of  God's,  to  start 
Dp,  Brutus  in  the  presence,  then  go  shout 
That  some  should  pick  the  unstrung  jewels  out  — 
Each,  well ! " 

And,  as  in  moments  when  the  Fast 
Gave  partially  enfranchisement,  he  cast 
Himself  quite  through  mere  secondary  states 
Of  his  soul's  essence,  little  loves  and  hates, 
Into  the  mid  deep  yearnings  overlaid 
By  these;    as   who   should    pierce    hill,  plain,   grove, 

glade, 

And  on  into  the  very  nucleus  probe 
That  first  determined  there  exist  a  globe. 
As  that  were  easiest,  half  the  globe  dissolved, 
So  seemed  Sordello's  closing-truth  evolved 
By  his  flesh-half's  break  up  —  the  sudden  swell 
Of  his  expanding  soul  showed  111  and  Well, 
Sorrow  and  Joy,  Beauty  and  Ugliness, 
Virtue  and  Vice,  the  Larger  and  the  Less, 
All  qualities,  in  fine,  recorded  here. 
Might  be  but  modes  of  Time  and  this  one  sphere, 
Urgent  on  these,  but  not  of  force  to  bind 
Eternity,  as  Time  —  as  Matter  —  Mind, 
If  Mind,  Eternity,  should  choose  assert 
Their  attributes  within  a  Life  :  thus  girt 
With  circumstance,  next  change  beholds  them  cinct 
Quite  otherwise  —  with  Good  and  111  distinct, 
Joys,  sorrow?,  tending  to  a  like  result  — 

Contrived  to  render  easv,  difficult, 
9* 


202        AND    WITH   NEW    CONDITIONS    OF    SUCCESS, 

This  or  the  other  course  of ...  what  new  bond 

In  place  of  flesh  may  stop  their  flight  beyond 

Its  new  sphere,  as  that  course  does  harm  or  good 

To  its  arrangements.     Once  this  understood, 

As  suddenly  he  felt  himself  alone, 

Quite  out  of  Time  and  this  world :  all  was  known. 

What  made  the  secret  of  his  past  despair  ? 

—  Most  imminent  when  he  seemed  most  aware 

Of  his  own  self-sufficiency ;  made  mad 

By  craving  to  expand  the  power  he  had, 

And  not  new  power  to  be  expanded  ?  —  just 

This  made  it  ;•  Soul  on  Matter  being  thrust, 

Joy  comes  when  so  much  Soul  is  wreaked  in  Time 

On  Matter,  —  let  the  Soul's  attempt  sublime 

Matter  beyond  the  scheme  and  so  prevent 

By  more  or  less  that  deed's  accomplishment, 

And  Sorrow  follows :  Sorrow  how  avoid  ? 

Let  the  employer  match  the  thing  employed, 

Fit  to  the  finite  his  infinity, 

And  thus  proceed  forever,  in  degree 

Changed  but  in  kind  the  same,  still  limited 

To  the  appointed  circumstance  and  dead 

To  all  beyond.     A  sphere  is  but  a  sphere  — 

Small,  Great,  are  merely  terms  we  bandy  here  — 

Since  to  the  spirit's  absoluteness  all 

Are  like :  now,  of  the  present  sphere  we  call 

Life,  are  conditions  —  take  but  this  among 

Many ;  the  body  was  to  be  so  long 

Youthful,  no  longer  —  but,  since  no  control 


NOK    SUCH    AS,   IJf   THIS,    PRODUCE   FAILURE.     203 

Tied  to  that  body's  purposes  his  soul, 

She  chose  to  understand  the  body's  trade 

More  than  the  body's  self — had  fain  conveyed 

Her  boundless,  to  the  body's  bounded  lot : 

Hence,  the  soul  permanent,  the  body  not,  — 

Scarce  the  one  minute  for  enjoying  here, 

The  soul  must  needs  instruct  her  weak  compeer, 

Run  o'er  its  capabilities  and  wring 

A  joy  thence,  the  held  worth  experiencing  — 

Which,  far  from  half  discovered  even,  —  lo, 

The  minute  gone,  the  body's  power  let  go 

That 's  portioned  to  that  joy's  acquirement !     Broke 

Morning  o'er  earth,  he  yearned  for  all  it  woke  — 

From  the  volcano's  vapor-flag,  winds  hoist 

Black  o'er  the  spread  of  sea,  —  down  to  the  moist 

Dale's  silken  barley-spikes  sullied  with  rain, 

Swayed  earthwards,  heavily  to  rise  again  — 

(The  Small,  a  sphere  as  perfect  as  the  Great 

To  the  soul's  absoluteness)  —  meditate 

Too  long  on  such  a  morning's  cluster-chord 

And  the  whole  music  it  was  framed  afford,  — 

The  chord's  might  half  discovered,  what  should  pluck 

One  string,  his  finger,  was  found  palsy-struck. 

And  then  no  marvel  if  the  spirit,  shone 

A  saddest  sight  —  the  body  lost  alone 

Through  her  officious  proffered  help,  deprived 

Of  this  and  that  enjoyment  Fate  contrived, 

Virtue,  Good,  Beauty,  each  allowed  slip  hence,— 

Vain-gloriously  w«re  fain,  for  recompense, 


204       BUT,    EVEN    HERE,    IS    FAILURE    INEVITABLE? 

To  stem  the  ruin  even  yet,  protract 

The  body's  term,  supply  the  power  it  lacked 

From  her  infinity,  compel  it  learn 

These  qualities  were  only  Time's  concern, 

And  body  may,  with  spirit  helping,  barred  — 

Advance  the  same,  vanquished  —  obtain  reward, 

Reap  joy  where  sorrow  was  intended  grow, 

Of  Wrong  make  Right,  and  turn  111  Good  below. 

And  the  result  is,  the  poor  body  soon 

Sinks  under  what  was  meant  a  wondrous  boon, 

Leaving  its  bright  accomplice  all  aghast. 

So  much  was  plain  then,  proper  in  the  Past ; 
To  be  complete  for,  satisfy  the  whole 
Series  of  spheres  —  Eternity,  his  soul 
Exceeded,  so  was  incomplete  for,  each 
Single  sphere  —  Time.     But  does  our  knowledge  reach 
No  farther  ?     Is  the  cloud  of  hindrance  broke 
But  by  the  failing  of  the  fleshly  yoke, 
Its  loves  and  hates,  as  now  when  death  lets  soar 
Sordello,  self-sufficient  as  before, 
Though  during  the  mere  space  that  shall  elapse 
'Twixt  his  enthralment  in  new  bonds,  perhaps  ? 
Must  life  be  ever  just  escaped,  which  should 
Have  been  enjoyed  ?  —  nay,  might  have  been  and  would, 
Each  purpose  ordered  right  —  the  soul 's  no  whit 
Beyond  the  body's  purpose  under  it  — 
Like  yonder  breadth  of  water}'  heaven,  a  bay, 
And  that  sky-space  of  water,  ray  for  ray 

star  for  star,  one  richness  where  they  mixed 


OB   FAILURE   HERE   MAY   BE    SUCCESS   ALSO      205 

As  this  and  that  wing  of  an  angel,  fixed, 

Tumultuary  splendors  folded  in 

To  die  —  would  soul,  proportioned  thus,  begin 

Exciting  discontent,  or  surelier  quell 

The  body  if,  aspiring,  it  rebel  ? 

But  how  so  order  life  ?     Still  brutalize 

The  soul,  the  sad  world's  way,  with  muffled  eyes 

To  all  that  was  before,  all  that  shall  be 

After  this  sphere  —  and  every  quality 

Save  some  sole  and  immutable  Great  and  Good 

And  Beauteous  whither  fate  has  loosed  its  hood 

To  follow  ?     Never  may  some  soul  see  All 

—  The  Great  Before  and  After,  and  the  Small 

Now,  yet  be  saved  by  this  the  simplest  lore, 

And  take  the  single  course  prescribed  before, 

As  the  king-bird  with  ages  on  his  plumes 

Travels  to  die  in  his  ancestral  glooms  ? 

But  where  descry  the  Love  that  shall  select 

That  course  ?     Here  is  a  soul  whom,  to  affect, 

Nature  has  plied  with  all  her  means  —  from  trees 

And  flowers  —  e'en  to  the  Multitude !  —  and  these 

Decides  he  save  or  no  ?     One  word  to  end ! " 

Ah  my  Sordello,  I  this  once  befriend 
And  speak  for  you.     Of  a  Power  above  you  still 
Which,  utterly  incomprehensible, 
Is  out  of  rivalry,  which  thus  you  can 
Love,  tho'  unloving  all  conceived  by  man  — 
W"hat  need !     And  of —  none  the  minutest  duct 
To  that  out-nature,  naught  that  would  instruct 


206      WHEN    INDUCED    BY   LOVE?    BORDELLO    KNOWS' 

And  so  let  rivalry  begin  to  live  — 

But  of  a  Power  its  representative 

Who,  being  for  authority  the  same, 

Communication  different,  should  claim 

A  course,  the  first  chose  and  this  last  revealed  — 

This  Human  clear,  as  that  Divine  concealed  — 

What  utter  need ! 

What  has  Sordello  found  ? 
Or  can  his  spirit  go  the  mighty  round, 
End  where  poor  Eglamor  begun  ?  as  says 
Old  fable,  the  two  eagles  went  two  ways 
About  the  world  :  where,  in  the  midst,  they  met, 
Though  on  a  shifting  waste  of  sand,  men  set 
Jove's  temple.     Quick,  what  has  Sordello  found? 
For  they  approach  —  approach  —  that  foot's  rebound  . 
Pal  ma  ?     No,  Salinguerra  though  in  mail ; 
They  mount,  have  reached  the  threshold,  dash  the  vefl 
Aside  —  and  you  divine  who  sat  there  dead, 
Under  his  foot  the  badge  :  still,  Palma  said, 
A  triumph  lingering  in  the  wide  eyes, 
Wider  than  some  spent  swimmer's  if  he  spies 
Help  from  above  in  his  extreme  despair, 
And,  head  far  back  on  shoulder  thrust,  turns  there 
With  short,  quick,  passionate  cry :  as  Palma  prest 
In  one  great  kiss  her  lips  upon  his  breast 
It  beat.     By  this,  the  hermit-bee  has  stopped 
His  day's  toil  at  Goito :  the  new-cropped 
Dead  vine-leaf  answers,  now  't  is  eve,  he  bit, 
Twirled  so,  and  filed  all  day :  the  mansion  's  fit, 


BUT   TOO    LATE  :   AN    INSECT    KNOWS    SOONER.    207 

God  counselled  for.     As  easy  guess  the  word 
That  passed  betwixt  them  and  become  the  third 
To  the  soft  small  unfrighted  bee,  as  tax 
Hun  with  one  fault  —  so,  no  remembrance  racks 
Of  the  stone  maidens  and  the  font  of  stone 
He,  creeping  through  the  crevice,  leaves  alone. 
Alas,  my  friend  —  alas  Sordello,  whom 
Anon  they  laid  within  that  old  font-tomb — 
And,  yet  again,  alas ! 

And  now  is  't  worth 

Our  while  bring  back  to  mind,  much  less  set  forth 
How  Salinguerra  extricates  himself 
Without  Sordello  ?     Ghibellin  and  Guelf 
May  fight  their  fiercest  out  ?     If  Richard  sulked 
In  durance  or  the  Marquis  paid  his  mulct, 
Who  cares,  Sordello  gone  ?     The  upshot,  sure, 
Was  peace ;  our  chief  made  some  frank  overture 
That  prospered ;  compliment  fell  thick  and  fast 
On  its  disposer,  and  Taurello  passed 
With  foe  and  friend  for  an  outstripping  soul, 
Nine  days  at  least.     Then,  —  fairly  reached  the  goal,  — 
He,  by  one  effort,  blotted  the  great  hope 
Out  of  his  mind,  nor  further  tried  to  cope 
With  Este,  that  mad  evening's  style,  but  sent 
Away  the  Legate  and  the  League,  content 
No  blame  at  least  the  brothers  had  incurred, 
—  Despatched  a  message  to  the  Monk,  he  heard 
Patiently  first  to  last,  scarce  shivered  at, 
Then  curled  his  limbs  up  on  bis  wolfskin  mat 


208       ON    HIS    DISAPPEARANCE    FROM    THE    STAGE, 

And  ne'er  spoke  more,  —  informed  the  Ferrarese 

He  but  retained  their  rule  so  long  as  these 

Lingered  in  pupilage,  —  and  last,  no  mode 

Apparent  else  of  keeping  safe  the  road 

From  Germany  direct  to  Lombardy 

For  Friedrich,  —  none,  that  is,  to  guarantee 

The  faith  and  promptitude  of  who  should  next 

Obtain  Sofia's  dowry,  —  sore  perplexed  — 

(Sofia  being  youngest  of  the  tribe 

Of  daughters,  Ecelin  was  wont  to  bribe 

The  envious  magnates  with  —  nor,  since  he  sent 

Henry  of  Egna  this  fair  child,  had  Trent 

Once  failed  the  Kaiser's  purposes  —  "  we  lost 

Egna  last  year,  and  who  takes  Egna's  post  — 

Opens  the  Lombard  gate  if  Friedrich  knock  ?  ") 

Himself  espoused  the  Lady  of  the  Rock 

In  pure  necessity,  and  so  destroyed 

His  slender  last  of  chances,  quite  made  void 

Old  prophecy,  and  spite  of  all  the  schemes 

Overt  and  covert,  youth's  deeds,  age's  dreams, 

Was  sucked  into  Romano.     And  so  hushed 

He  up  this  evening's  work  that,  when  't  was  brushed 

Somehow  against  by  a  blind  chronicle 

Which,  chronicling  whatever  woe  befell 

Ferrara,  noted  this  the  obscure  woe 

Of  "  Salinguerra's  sole  son  Giacomo 

Deceased,  fatuous  and  doting,  ere  his  sire," 

The  townsfolk  rubbed  their  eyes,  could  but  admire 

Which  of  Sofia's  five  was  meant. 


THE   NEXT   ASPIRANT    CAN    PRESS   FORWARD,      20'J 

The  chaps 

Of  earth's  dead  hope  were  tardy  to  collapse, 
Obliterated  not  the  beautiful 
Distinctive  features  at  a  crash  —  but  dull 
And  duller,  next  year,  as  Guelf  chiefs  withdrew 
Each  to  his  stronghold.     Then  (securely  too 
Ecelin  at  Campese  slept  —  close  by, 
Who  likes  may  see  him  in  Solagna  lie 
With  cushioned  head  and  gloved  hand  to  denote 
The  cavalier  he  was)  —  then  his  heart  smote 
Yoang  Ecelin  at  last !  —  long  since  adult, 
And,  save  Vicenza's  business,  what  result 
In  blood  and  blaze  ?  ('t  was  hard  to  intercept 
Sordello  till  his  plain  withdrawal.)     Stept, 
Then,  its  new  lord  on  Lombardy.     F  the  nick 
Of  tune  when  Ecelin  and  Alberic 
Closed  with  Taurello,  come  precisely  news 
That  in  Verona  half  the  souls  refuse 
Allegiance  to  the  Marquis  and  the  Count  — 
Have  cast  them  from  a  throne  they  bid  him  mount, 
Their  Podestk,  thro'  his  ancestral  worth. 
Ecelin  flew  there,  and  the  town  henceforth 
Was  wholly  his  —  Taurello  sinking  back 
From  temporary  station  to  a  track 
That  suited.     News  received  of  this  acquist, 
Friedrich  did  come  to  Lombardy  :  who  missed 
Taurello  then  ?     Another  year  :  they  took 
Vicenza,  left  the  Marquis  scarce  a  nook 
Kor  refuge,  and,  when  hundreds  two  or  three 


210    SALINGUERRA'S  PART  LAPSING  TO  ECELIN, 

Of  Guelfs  conspired  to  call  themselves  "  the  Free," 

Opposing  Alberic,  —  vile  Bassanese,  — 

("Without  Sordello !)  —  Ecelin  at  ease 

Slaughtered  them  so  observably,  that  oft 

A  little  Salinguerra  looked  with  soft 

Blue  eyes  up,  asked  his  sire  the  proper  age 

To  get  appointed  his  proud  uncle's  page. 

More  years  passed,  and  that  sire  had  dwindled  down 

To  a  mere  showy  turbulent  soldier,  grown 

Better  through  age,  his  parts  still  in  repute, 

Subtle  —  how  else  ?  —  but  hardly  so  astute 

As  his  contemporaneous  friends  professed ; 

Undoubtedly  a  brawler :  for  the  rest, 

Known  by  each  neighbor,  and  allowed  for,  let 

Keep  his  incorrigible  ways,  nor  fret 

Men  who  had  missed  their  boyhood's  bugbear  —  "  trap 

The  ostrich,  suffer  our  bald  osprey  flap 

A  battered  pinion  "  —  was  the  word.     In  fine, 

One  flap  too  much  and  Venice's  marine 

Was  meddled  with  ;  no  overlooking  that ! 

She  captured  him  in  his  Ferrara,  fat 

And  florid  at  a  banquet,  more  by  fraud 

Than  force,  to  speak  the  truth ;  there  's  slender  laud 

Ascribed  you  for  assisting  eighty  years 

To  pull  his  death  on  such  a  man  —  fate  shears 

The  life-cord  prompt  enough  whose  last  fine  threads 

You  fritter :  so,  presiding  his  board-head. 

The  old  smile,  your  assurance  all  went  well 

With  Friedrich  (as  if  he  were  like  to  tell !) 


WHO,    WITH    HIS    BROTHER,    PLAYED    IT    OUT,      211 

In  rushed  (a  plan  contrived  before)  our  friends, 

Made  some  pretence  at  fighting,  some  amends 

For  the  shame  done  his  eighty  years  —  (apart 

The  principle,  none  found  it  in  his  heart 

To  be  much  angry  with  Taurello)  —  gained 

Their  galleys  with  the  prize,  and  what  remained 

But  carry  him  to  Venice  for  a  show  ? 

—  Set  him,  as  't  were,  down  gently  —  free  to  go 

His  gait,  inspect  our  square,  pretend  observe 

The  swallows  soaring  their  eternal  curve 

Twixt  Theodore  and  Mark,  if  citizens 

Gathered  importunately,  fives  and  tens, 

To  point  their  children  the  Magnifico, 

All  but  a  monarch  once  in  firm-land,  go 

His  gait  among  them  now  —  "  it  took,  indeed, 

Fully  this  Ecelin  to  supersede 

That  man,"  remarked  the  seniors.     Singular ! 

Sordello's  inability  to  bar 

Rivals  the  stage,  that  evening,  mainly  brought 

About  by  his  strange  disbelief  that  aught 

Was  ever  to  be  done,  —  this  thrust  the  Twain 

Under  Taurello's  tutelage,  —  whom,  brain 

And  heart  and  hand,  he  forthwith  in  one  rod 

Indissolubly  bound  to  baffle  God 

Who  loves  the  world  —  and  thus  allowed  the  thin 

Gray  wizened  dwarfish  devil  Ecelin, 

And  massy-muscled  big-boned  Alberic 

(Mere  man,  alas  !)  tc  put  his  problem  quick 

To  demonstration  —  prove  wherever  's  will 


212      AND    WENT   HOME    DULY   TO    THEIR    REWARD 

To  do,  there 's  plenty  to  be  done,  or  ill 

Or  good.     Anointed,  then,  to  rend  and  rip  — 

Kings  of  the  gag  and  flesh-hook,  screw  and  whip, 

They  plagued  the  world  :  a  touch  of  Hildebrand 

(So  far  from  obsolete !)  made  Lombards  band 

Together,  cross  their  coats  as  for  Chriftt's  cause, 

And  saving  Milan  win  the  world's  applause. 

Ecelin  perished :  and  I  think  grass  grew 

Never  so  pleasant  as  in  Valley  Ru 

By  San  Zenon  where  Alberic  in  turn 

Saw  his  exasperated  captors  burn 

Seven  children  and  their  mother ;  then,  regaled 

So  far,  tied  on  to  a  wild  horse,  was  trailed 

To  death  through  raunce  and  bramble-bush.     I  take 

God's  part  and  testify  that  mid  the  brake 

Wild  o'er  his  castle  on  the  pleasant  knoll, 

You  hear  its  one  tower  left,  a  belfry,  toll  — 

The  earthquake  spared  it  last  year,  laying  flat 

The  modern  church  beneath,  —  no  harm  in  that  I 

Cherups  the  contumacious  grasshopper, 

Rustles  the  lizard  and  the  cushats  chirre 

Above  the  ravage :  there,  at  deep  of  day 

A  week  since,  heard  I  the  old  Canon  say 

He  saw  with  his  own  eyes  a  barrow  burst 

And  Alberic's  huge  skeleton  unhearsed 

Only  five  years  ago.     He  added,  "  June 's 

The  month  for  carding  off  our  first  cocoons 

The  silkworms  fabricate"  —  a  double  news, 

Nor  he  nor  I  could  tell  the  worthier.     Choose  1 


GOOD    WILL ILL    LUCK,    GET    SECOND    PRIZE.     218 

And  Naddo  gone,  all 's  gone ;  not  Eglamor  I 
Believe,  I  knew  the  face  I  waited  for, 
A  guest  my  spirit  of  the  golden  courts  ! 
0  strange  to  see  how,  despite  ill-reports, 
Disuse,  some  wear  of  years,  that  face  retained 
Its  joyous  look  of  love !     Suns  waxed  and  waned, 
And  still  my  spirit  held  an  upward  flight, 
Spiral  on  spiral,  gyres  of  life  and  light 
More  and  more  gorgeous  —  ever  that  face  there 
The  last  admitted !  crossed,  too,  with  some  care 
As  perfect  triumph  were  not  sure  for  all, 
But,  on  a  few,  enduring  damp  must  fall, 
—  A  transient  struggle,  haply  a  painful  sense 
Of  the  inferior  nature's  clinging  —  whence 
Slight  starting  tears  easily  wiped  away, 
Fine  jealousies  soon  stifled  in  the  play 
Of  irrepressible  admiration  —  not 
Aspiring,  all  considered,  to  their  lot 
Who  ever,  just  as  they  prepare  ascend 
Spiral  on  spiral,  wish  thee  well,  impend 
Thy  frank  delight  at  their  exclusive  track, 
That  upturned  fervid  face  and  hair  put  back ! 

Is  there  no  more  to  say  ?    He  of  the  rhymes  — 
Many  a  tale,  of  this  retreat  betimes, 
Was  born  :  Sordello  die  at  once  for  men  ? 
The  Chroniclers  of  Mantua  tired  their  pen 
Telling  how  Sordello  Prince  Visconti  saved 
Mantua,  and  elsewhere  notably  behaved  — 
Who  thus,  by  fortune's  ordering  events. 


214      WHAT    LEAST    ONE    MAY    I    AWARD    SORDEULO? 

Passed  with  posterity,  to  all  intents, 

For  just  the  God  he  never  could  become. 

As  Knight,  Bard,  Gallant,  men  were  never  dumb 

In  praise  of  him :  while  what  he  should  have  been, 

Could  be,  and  was  not  —  the  one  step  too  mean 

For  him  to  take,  —  we  suffer  at  this  day 

Because  of:  Ecelin  had  pushed  away 

Its  chance  ere  Dante  could  arrive  and  take 

That  step  Sordello  spurned,  for  the  world's  sake : 

He  did  much  —  but  Sordello's  chance  was  gone. 

Thus,  had  Sordello  dared  that  step  alone, 

Apollo  had  been  compassed  —  't  was  a  fit 

He  wished  should  go  to  him,  not  he  to  it 

—  As  one  content  to  merely  be  supposed 

Singing  or  fighting  elsewhere,  while  he  dozed 

Really  at  home  —  one  who  was  chiefly  glad 

To  have  achieved  the  few  real  deeds  he  had, 

Because  that  way  assured  they  were  not  worth 

Doing,  so  spared  from  doing  them  henceforth  — 

A  tree  that  covets  fruitage  and  yet  tastes 

Never  itself,  itself:  had  he  embraced 

Their  cause  then,  men  had  plucked  Hesperian  fruit 

And,  praising  that,  just  thrown  him  in  to  boot 

All  he  was  anxious  to  appear,  but  scarce 

Solicitous  to  be.     A  sorry  farce 

Such  life  is,  after  all !  cannot  I  say 

He  lived  for  some  one  better  thing  ?  this  way.  — 

Lo,  on  a  heathy  brown  and  nameless  hill 

By  sparkling  Afeoln,  in  mist  and  chill, 


THIS — THAT   MUST   PERFORCE    CONTENT   HIM,      215 

Morning  just  up,  liigher  and  higher  runs 

A  child  barefoot  and  rosy.     She !  the  sun  's 

On  the  square  castle's  inner-court's  low  wall 

Like  the  chine  of  some  extinct  animal 

Half  turned  to   earth   and  flowers ;   and  through  the 

haze 

(Save  where  some  slender  patches  of  gray  maize 
Are  to  be  overleaped)  that  boy  has  crost 
The  whole  hill-side  of  dew  and  powder-frost 
Matting  the  balm  and  mountain  camomile. 
Up  and  up  goes  he,  singing  all  the  while 
Some  unintelligible  words  to  beat 
The  lark,  God's  poet,  swooning  at  his  feet, 
So  worsted  is  he  at  "  the  few  fine  locks 
Stained  like  pale  honey  oozed  from  topmost  rocks 
Sunblanched  the  livelong  summer,"  —  all  that 's  left 
Of  the  Goito  lay  !     And  thus  bereft, 
Sleep  and  forget,  Sordello !     In  effect 
He  sleeps,  the  feverish  poet  —  I  suspect 
Not  utterly  companionless ;  but,  friends, 
Wake  up  ;  the  ghost 's  gone,  and  the  story  ends 
I  'd  fain  hope,  sweetly  —  seeing,  peri  or  ghoul, 
That  spirits  are  conjectured  fair  or  foul, 
Evil  or  good,  judicious  authors  think, 
According  as  they  vanish  in  a  stink 
Or  in  a  perfume.     Friends,  be  frank  !  ye  snuff 
Civet,  1  warrant.     Really  ?     Like  enough  ! 
Merely  the  savour's  rareness  ;  any  nose 
May  ravage  with  impunity  a  rose  : 


216      AS   NO   PRIZE   AT   ALL,   HAS    CONTENTED    MB. 

Rifle  a  musk-pod  and  't  will  ache  like  yours  i 
I  'd  tell  you  that  same  pungency  insures 
An  after-gust  —  but  that  were  overbold. 
Who  would  has  heard  Bordello's  story  told. 


&tan&arD  anfc  popular 

SELECTED  FROM  THE  CATALOGUE  OF 

HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN  AND  COMPANY. 

Brooks  Adams.  The  Emancipation  of  Massachusetts,  crown 
8vo. 

John  Adams  and  Abigail  Adams.  Familiar  Letters  of, 
during  the  Revolution,  I2mo,  $2.00. 

Oscar  Fay  Adams.  Handbook  of  English  Authors,  i6mo, 
75  cents ;  Handbook  of  American  Authors,  i6mo,  75  cents. 

Louis  Agassiz.  Methods  of  Study  in  Natural  History,  Illus- 
trated, I2mo,  $1.50;  Geological  Sketches,  Series  I.  and  II., 
I2mo,  each,  $1.50;  A  Journey  in  Brazil,  Illustrated,  I2mo, 
$2.50;  Life  and  Letters,  edited  by  his  wife,  2  vols.  I2mo, 
$4.00;  Life  and  Works,  6  vols.  $10.00. 

Anne  A.  Agge  and  Mary  M.  Brooks.  Marblehead 
Sketches.  4to,  $3.00. 

Elizabeth  Akers.  The  Silver  Bridge  and  other  Poems,  i6mo, 
$1.25. 

Thomas  Bailey  Aldrich.  Story  of  a  Bad  Boy,  Illustrated, 
I2mo,  $1.50;  Marjorie  Daw  and  Other  People,  I2mo,  $1.50; 
Prudence  Palfrey,  I2mo,  $1.50;  The  Queen  of  Sheba,  I2mo, 
$1.50;  The  Stillwater  Tragedy,  I2mo,  $1.50;  Poems,  House- 
hold Edition,  Illustrated,  12010,  $1.75;  full  gilt,  $2.25;  The 
above  six  vols.  I2mo,  uniform,  $9.00;  From  Ponkapog  to 
Pesth,  i6mo,  $1.25  ;  Poems,  Complete,  Illustrated,  8vo,  $3.50  ; 
Mercedes,  and  Later  Lyrics,  cr.  8vo,  $1.25. 

Rev.  A.  V.  G.  Allen.     Continuity  of  Christian  Thought,  12010, 

$2.00 

American  Commonwealths.      Per  volume,  161110,  $1.25. 
Virginia.     By  John  Esten  Cooke. 
Oregon.     By  William  Barrows. 
Maryland.     By  Wm.  Hand  Browne. 
Kentucky.     By  N.  S.  Shaler. 


2  JHoughton,  Mifflin  and  Company's 

Michigan.     By  Hon.  T.  M.  Cooley. 

Kansas.     By  Leverett  \V.  Spring. 

California.     By  Josiah  Royce. 

New  York.     By  Ellis  H.  Roberts,    z  vols. 
{In  Preparation.) 

Tennessee.     By  James  Phelan. 

Pennsylvania.     By  Hon.  Wayne  MacVeagh. 

South  Carolina.     By  Hon.  W.  H.  Trescot. 

Connecticut.     By  Alexander  Johnston. 

Missouri.     By  Lucien  Carr. 

American  Men  of  Letters.     Per  vol.,  with  Portrait,  161 
$1.25. 

Washington  Irving.     By  Charles  Dudley  Warner. 

Noah  Webster.     By  Horace  E.  Scudder. 

Henry  D.  Thoreau.     By  Frank  B.  Sanborn. 

George  Ripley.     By  O.  B.  Frothingham. 

J.  Fenimore  Cooper.     By  Prof.  T.  R.  Lounsbury. 

Margaret  Fuller  Ossoli.     By  T.  W.  Higginson. 

Ralph  Waldo  Emerson.     By  Oliver  Wendell  Holmes. 

Edgar  Allan  Poe.     By  George  E.  Woodberry. 

Nathaniel  Parker  Willis.     By  H   A.  Beers. 
(/«  Preparation.) 

Benjamin  Franklin.     By  John  Bach  McMaster. 

Nathaniel  Hawthorne.     By  James  Russell  Lowell. 

William  Cullen  Bryant.     By  John  Bigelow. 

Bayard  Taylor.     By  J.  R.  G.  Hassard. 

William  Gilmore  Simms.     By  George  W.  Cable. 
American  Statesmen.     Per  vol.,  i6mo,  $1.25. 

John  Quincy  Adams.     By  John  T.  Morse,  Jr. 

Alexander  Hamilton.     By  Henry  Cabot  Lodge. 

John  C.  Calhoun.     By  Dr.  H.  von  Hoist. 

Andrew  Jackson.     By  Prof.  W.  G.  Sumner. 

John  Randolph.     By  Henry  Adams. 

James  Monroe.     By  Pres.  D.  C.  Gilman. 

Thomas  Jefferson.     By  John  T.  Morse,  Jr. 

Daniel  Webster.     By  Henry  Cabot  Lodge. 

Albert  Gallatin.     By  John  Austin  Stevens. 

James  Madison.     By  Sydney  Howard  Gay. 


Standard  and  Popular  Library  Books.  3 

John  Adams.     By  John  T.  Morse,  Jr. 
John  Marshall.     By  Allan  B.  Magruder. 
Samuel  Adams.     By  J.  K.  Hosmer. 
Thomas  H.  Benton.     By  Theodore  Roosevelt. 

(/«  Preparation.) 

Henry  Clay.     By  Hon.  Carl  Schurz.     2  vols, 
Martin  Van  Buren.     By  Hon.  Wm.  Dorsheimer. 
George  Washington.     By  Henry  Cabot  Lodge.    2  vols. 
Patrick  Henry.     By  Moses  Coit  Tyler. 

Martha  Babcock  Amory.     Life  of  Copley,  8vo,  £3.00. 

Hans  Christian  Andersen.  Complete  Works,  10  vols.  i2mo, 
each  $1.00.  New  Edition,  10  vols.  I2mo,  $10.00. 

Francis,  Lord  Bacon. .  Works,  15  vols.  cr.  8vo,  $33.75  ;  Pop- 
ular Edition,  with  Portraits,  2  vols.  cr.  8vo,  $5.00 ;  Promus  of 
Formularies  and  Elegancies,  8vo,  $5.00 ;  Life  and  Times  of 
Bacon,  2  vols.  cr.  8vo,  $5.00- 

L.  H.  Bailey,  Jr.    Talks  Afield,  Illustrated,  i6mo,  $1.00. 

M.  M.  Ballou.     Due  West,  cr.  8vo,  $1.50 ;  Due  South,  $1.50. 

Henry  A.  Beers.    The  Thankless  Muse.   Poems.    i6mo,$i.25. 

E.  D.  K.  Bianciardi.     At  Home  in  Italy,  i6mo,  $1.25. 

William  Henry  Bishop.  The  House  of  a  Merchant  Prince, 
a  Novel,  I2mo,  $1.50;  Detmold,  a  Novel,  iSmo,  $1.25  ;  Choy 
Susan  and  other  Stories,  16010,  $1.25 ;  The  Golden  Justice, 
T6m.j. 

Bjornstjerne  Bjornson.  Synnove  Solbakken,  Bridal  March, 
Captain  Mansana,  i6mo,  each  $1.00 ;  New  Edition,  3  vols. 
I2mo,  the  set,  $4.50. 

Anne  C.  Lynch  Botta.  Handbook  of  Universal  Literature, 
New  Edition,  I2tno,  $2.00. 

British  Poets.  Riverside  Editwn,  cr.  8vo,  each  $1.50 ;  the 
set,  68  vols.  $100.00. 

Phillips  Brooks.    Oldest  School  in  America.     i6mo,  $1.00. 

John  Brown,  A.  B.    John  Bunyan.     Illustrated.    8vo,  $4.50. 

John  Brown,  M.  D.     Spare  Hours,  3  vols.  i6mo,  each  $1.50. 

Robert  Browning.  Poems  and  Dramas,  etc.,  15  vols.  i6mo, 
$22.00 ;  Complete  Works,  New  Edition,  8  vols.  cr.  8vo, 
$1300;  Ferishtah's  Fancies,  i6mo,  $1.00;  cr.  8vo,  $1.00;  Jo- 
coseria,  i6mo,  $1.00;  cr.  8vo,  $1.00. 

William  Cullen  Bryant.    Translation  of  Homer,  The  Iliad 


4  Houghton,  Mifflin  and  Company's 

cr.  8vo,  $2.50;  2  vols.  royal  8vo,  $9.00;  cr.  8vo,  $4.00;  The 
Odyssey,  cr.  8vo,  $2.50 ;  2  vols.  royal  8vo,  $9.00 ;  cr.  8vo,  $4.00. 

Sara  C.  Bull  Life  of  Ole  Bull.  Popular  Edition.  12010, 
$1.50. 

John  Burroughs.     Works,  7  vols.  i6mo,  each  $1.50- 

Thomas  Carlyle.  Essays,  with  Portrait  and  Index,  4  vols 
I2mo,  $7.50  ;  Popular  Edition,  2  vols.  I2mo,  $3.50. 

Alice  and  Phcebe  Gary.  Poems,  Household  Edition,  Illus- 
trated, I2mo,  $1.75;  cr.  8vo,  full  gilt,  £2.25  ;  Library  Edition, 
including  Memorial  by  Mary  Clemmer,  Portraits  and  24  Illus- 
trations, 8vo,  $3.50. 

Francis  J.  Child.  Poems  of  Religious  Sorrow,  Comfort, 
Counsel,  and  Aspiration.  i6mo,  $1.25. 

Lydia  Maria  'Child.  Looking  Toward  Sunset,  i2mo,  $2.50; 
Letters,  with  Biography  by  Whittier,  i6mo,  $1.50. 

James  Freeman  Clarke.  Ten  Great  Religions,  Parts  I.  and 
II.,  I2mo,  each  $2.00;  Common  Sense  in  Religion,  i2mo,  $2.00  ; 
Memorial  and  Biographical  Sketches,  I2mo,  $2.00. 

John  Esten  Cooke.     My  Lady  Pokahontas,  i6mo,  $1.25. 

James  Fenimore  Cooper.  Works,  new  Household  Edition, 
Illustrated,  32  vols.  i6mo,  each  $i  oo ;  the  set,  $32.00 ;  Fire- 
side Edition,  Illustrated,  1 6  vols.  i2mo,  $20.00. 

Susan  Fenimore  Cooper.     Rural  Hours.     i6mo. 

Charles  Egbert  Craddock.  In  the  Tennessee  Mountains, 
i6mo,  $1.25;  Down  the  Ravine,  Illustrated,  $1.00;  The 
Prophet  of  the  Great  Smoky  Mountains,  i6mo,  $1.25;  In  The 
Clouds,  i6mo,  $1.25. 

C.  P.  Cranch.     Ariel  and  Caliban.     i6mo,  $1.25. 

The  jfLneid  of  Virgil.     Translated  by  Cranch.     8vo,  $2.50. 

T.  F.  Crane.     Italian  Popular  Tales,  8vo,  $2.50. 

F.  Marion  Crawford.     To  Leeward,  i6mo,  $1.25  ;  A  Roman 
Singer,  i6mo,  $1.25  ;  An  American  Politician,  i6mo,  $1.25. 

M.  Creighton.     The  Papacy  during  the  Reformation,  2  vols. 

8vo,  $10.00. 
Richard  H.  Dana.     To  Cuba  and  Back,  i6mo,  $1-25;  Two 

Years  Before  the  Mast,  I2mo,  $1.00. 

G.  W.  and  Emma  De  Long.     Voyage  of  the  Jeannette.     2 
vols.  8vo,  $7.50;  New  One-Volume  Edition,  8vo,  $4.50. 

Thomas  De  Quincey.  Works,  12  vols.  12010,  each  $1.50; 
the  set,  $18.00. 


Standard  and  Popular  Library  Books.  j 

Madame  De  Stael.    Germany,  I2mo,  $2.50. 

Charles  Dickens.  Works,  Illustrated  Library  Edition,  with 
Dickens  Dictionary,  30  vols.  I2mo,  each  $1.50 ;  the  set,  $45.00 ; 
Globe  Edition,  15  vols.  i6mo,  each  $1.25  ;  the  set,  $18.75. 

J.  Lewis  Diman.  The  Theistic  Argument,  etc.,  cr.  8vo,  $2.00 ; 
Orations  and  Essays,  cr.  8vo,  $2.50. 

Theodore  A.  Dodge.  Patroclus  and  Penelope,  Illustrated, 
8vo,  $3.00.  i6mo,  Outline  Illustrations,  $1.25. 

Eight  Studies  of  the  Lord's  Day.     i2mo,  $1.50. 

George  Eliot.    The  Spanish  Gypsy,  a  Poem,  i6mo,  $1.00. 

Ralph  "Waldo  Emerson.  Works,  Riverside  Edition,  \  i  vols. 
each  $1.75;  the  set,  $19.25;  "Little  Classic"  Edition,  n  vols. 
i8mo,  each,  $1.50;  Parnassus,  Household  Edition,  izmo,  $1.75  ; 
Library  Edition,  8vo,  $4.00 ;  Poems,  Household  Edition,  Por- 
trait, I2mo,  $1.75. 

English  Dramatists.  Vols.  1-3,  Marlowe's  Works ;  Vols. 
4-1 1,  Middleton's  Works;  Vols.  12-14,  Marston's  Works; 
each  vol.  $3.00 ;  Large-Paper  Edition,  each  vol.  $4.00. 

Edgar  Fawcett.  A  Hopeless  Case,  i8mo,  $1.25  ;  A  Gentle- 
man of  Leisure,  i8mo,  $1.00;  An  Ambitious  Woman,  121110, 
$1.50. 

F6nelon.    Adventures  of  Telemachus,  I2mo,  $2.25. 

James  T.  Fields.  Yesterdays  with  Authors,  I2mo,  $2.00;  8vo, 
Illustrated,  $3.00  ;  Underbrush,  i8mo,$i.25  ;  Ballads  and  other 
Verses,  i6mo,  $1.00;  The  Family  Library  of  British  Poetry, 
royal  8vo,  $5.00  ;  Memoirs  and  Correspondence,  cr.  8vo,  $2.00. 

John  Fiske.  Myths  and  Mythmakers,  i2mo,  $2.00;  Outlines 
of  Cosmic  Philosophy,  2  vols.  8vo,  $6.00  ;  The  Unseen  World, 
and  other  Essays,  i2mo,  $2.00  ;  Excursions  of  an  Evolutionist, 
i2mo,  $2.00;  The  Destiny  of  Man,  i6mo,  $1.00;  The  Idea  of 
God,  i6mo,  $1.00;  Darwinism,  and  Other  Essays,  New  Edi- 
tion, enlarged,  I2mo,  $2.00. 

Edward  Fitzgerald.     Works.     2  vols.  8vo. 

O.  B.  Frothingham.     Life  of  W.  H.  Channing.  Cr.  8vo,  $2.00 

William  H.  Furness.    Verses,  i6mo,  vellum,  $1.25. 

Gentleman's  Magazine  Library.  14  vols.  8vo,  each  $2.50; 
Roxburgh,  $3.50;  Large-Paper  Edition,  $6.00.  I.  Manners  and 
Customs.  II.  Dialect,  Proverbs,  and  Word-Lore.  III.  Pop- 


6  Houghton,  Mifflin  and  Company's 

ular  Superstitions  and  Traditions.  IV.  English  Traditions 
and  Foreign  Customs.  V.,  VI.  Archaeology.  (Last  two  styles 
sold  only  in  sets. ) 

John   F.  Genung.     Tennyson's  In  Memoriam,  cr.  8vo,  $1.25. 

Johann  Wolfgang  von  Goethe.  Faust,  Part  First,  Trans- 
lated by  C.  T.  Brooks,  i6mo,  $1.25  ;  Faust,  Translated  by  Bay- 
ard Taylor,  cr.  8vo,  $2.50 ;  2  vols.  royal  8vo,  $9.00 ;  2  vols.  121110, 
$4.00;  Correspondence  with  a  Child,  I2mo,  $1.50;  Wilhelm 
Meister,  Translated  by  Carlyle,  2  vols.  lamo,  $3.00.  Life,  by 
Lewes,  together  with  the  above  five  I2mo  vols.,  the  set,  $9.00. 

Oliver  Goldsmith.     The  Vicar  of  Wakefield,  32mo,  $1.00. 

Charles  George  Gordon.    Diaries  and  Letters,  8vo,  $2.00. 

George  H.  Gordon.  Brook  Farm  to  Cedar  Mountain,  1861-2. 
8vo,  $3.00  ;  Campaign  of  Army  of  Virginia,  1862.  8vo,  $4.00  ; 
A  War  Diary,  1863-5.  ^vo>  $3-°o. 

George  Zabriskie  Gray.  The  Children's  Crusade,  i2mo, 
$1.50;  Husband  and  Wife,  i6mo,  $1.00. 

F.W.  Gunsaulus.   The  Transfiguration  of  Christ.    i6mo,  $1.25. 

Anna  Davis  Hallowell.    James  and  Lucretia  Mott,  $2.00. 

R.  P.  Hallowell.     Quaker  Invasion  of  Massachusetts,  $1.25. 

Arthur  Sherburne  Hardy.  But  Yet  a  Woman,  i6mo,  $1.25  ; 
The  Wind  of  Destiny,  i6mo,  $1.25. 

Bret  Harte.  Works,  5  vols.  cr.  8vo,  each  $2.00 ;  In  the  Car- 
quinez  Woods,  i8mo,  $1.00;  Flip,  and  Found  at  Blazing  Star, 
i8mo,  $1.00;  On  the  Frontier,  i8mo,  $1.00 ;  By  Shore  and 
Sedge,  i8mo,  $1.00;  Maruja,  i8mo>  $1.00;  Snow-Bound  at 
Eagle's,  i8mo,  $1.00;  Poems,  Household  Edition,  Illustrated, 
I2mo,  $1.75 ;  cr.  8vo,  full  gilt,  $2.25 ;  Red-Line  Edition,  small 
4to,  $2.50  ;  Cabinet  Edition,  $1.00. 

Nathaniel  Hawthorne.  Works,  "Little  Classic"  Edition, 
Illustrated,  25  vols.  i8mo,  each  $1.00;  the  set  $25.00;  New 
Riverside  Edition,  Introductions  by  G.  P.  Lathrop,  n  Etch- 
ings and  Portrait,  12  vols.  cr.  8vo,  each  $2.00;  Wayside  Edi- 
tion, with  Introductions,  Etchings,  etc.,  24  vols.  I2mo,  $36.00; 
Fireside  Edition.  6  vols.  I2mo,  $10.00;  The  Scarlet  Letter, 
I2mo,  $1.00. 

John  Hay,  Pike  County  Ballads,  i2mo,  $1.50;  Castilian 
Days,  i6mo,  $2.00. 


Standard  and  Popular  Library  Books.  y 

Caroline  Hazard.     Memoir  of  J.  L.  Diman     i6mo,  £2.00. 

S.  E.  Herrick.     Some  Heretics  of  Yesterday,  cr.  Svo,  $1-50. 

George  S.  Hillard.     Six  Months  in  Italy,  izmo,  $2.00. 

Oliver  Wendell  Holmes.  Poems,  Household  Edition,  Illus- 
trated, I2mo,  $1.75  ;  cr.  8vo,  full  gilt,  $2.25  ;  Illustrated  Library 
Edition,  8vo,  $3.50;  Handy- Volume  Edition,  2  vols.  32010, 
$2.50;  The  Autocrat  of  the  Breakfast-Table,  cr.  Svo,  $2.00 ; 
Handy-Vohtme  Edition,  32010,  $1.25;  The  Professor  at  the 
Breakfast-Table,  cr.  Svo,  $2.00;  The  Poet  at  the  Breakfast- 
Table,  cr.  Svo,  $2.00 ;  Elsie  Venner,  cr.  Svo,  $2.00 ;  The  Guar- 
dian Angel,  cr.  Svo,  $2.00;  Medical  Essays,  cr.  Svo,  $2.00; 
Pages  from  an  Old  Volume  of  Life,  cr.  Svo,  $2.00 ;  John  Lo- 
throp  Motley,  A  Memoir,  i6mo,  $1.50;  Illustrated  Poems, 
Svo,  $4.00;  A  Mortal  Antipathy,  cr.  Svo,  $1.50;  The  Last 
Leaf,  Illustrated,  4to,  $10.00. 

Nathaniel  Holmes.    The  Authorship  of  Shakespeare.    New 

.  Edition.     2  vols.  $4.00. 

Blanche  Willis  Howard.  One  Summer,  Illustrated,  12010, 
$1.25;  One  Year  Abroad,  iSmo,  $1.25. 

William  D.  Ho  wells.  Venetian  Life,  12010,  $1.50;  Italian 
Journeys,  I2mo,  $1.50;  Their  Wedding  Journey,  Illustrated, 
I2mo,  $1.50;  iSmo,  $1.25;  Suburban  Sketches,  Illustrated, 
I2mo,  $1.50;  A  Chance  Acquaintance,  Illustrated,  I2mo, 
$1.50;  iSmo,  $1.25;  A  Foregone  Conclusion,  12010,  $1.50; 
The  Lady  of  the  Aroostook,  I2mo,  $1.50;  The  Undiscovered 
Country,  I2mo,  $1.50. 

Thomas  Hughes.  Tom  Brown's  School-Days  at  Rugby, 
i6mo,  $1.00  ;  Tom  Brown  at  Oxford,  i6mo,  $1.25  ;  The  Man- 
liness of  Christ,  i6mo,  $1.00;  paper,  25  cents. 

William  Morris  Hunt.    Talks  on  Art,  2  Series,  each  $1.00. 

Henry  James,  Jr.  A  Passionate  Pilgrim  and  other  Tales, 
I2mo,  $2.00;  Transatlantic  Sketches,  I2mo,  $2.00  ;  Roderick 
Hudson,  I2mo,  $200;  The  American,  121110,  $2.00;  Watch 
and  Ward,  iSmo,  $1.25;  The  Europeans,  i2mo,  $1.50;  Confi- 
dence, I2mo,  $1.50;  The  Portrait  of  a  Lady,  12010,  $2.00. 

Mrs.  Anna  Jameson.  Writings  upon  Art  Subjects.  New 
Edition,  10  vols.  i6mo,  the  set,  $12.50. 

Sarah  Orne  Jewett.    Deephaven,  iSmo,  $1.25  ;  Old  Friends 


8  Houghton,  Mifflin  and  Cothpan^s 

and  New,  i8mo,  $1.25  ;  Country  By-Ways,  i8mo,  $1.25  ;  Play- 
Days,  Stories  for  Children,  square  i6mo,  $1.50;  The  Mate  of 
the  Daylight,  i8mo,  $1.25;  A' Country  Doctor,  i6mo,  $1.25  ; 
A  Marsh  Island,  i6mo,  $1.25  ;  A  White  Heron,  i8mo,  $1.25. 

Rossiter  Johnson.    Little  Classics,  18  vols.  i8mo,  each  $1.00 ; 

the  set,  $18.00.     9  vols.  square  i6mo,  $[3.50. 
Samuel    Johnson.      Oriental    Religions :    India,   8vo,  $5.00 ; 

China,  8vo,  $5.00;  Persia,  8vo,  $5.00;  Lectures,  Essays,  and 

Sermons,  cr.  8vo,  $1.75. 

Charles  C.  Jones,  Jr.     History  of  Georgia,  2  vols.  8vo,  $10.00. 
Walter  M.  Kerr.  The  Far  Interior.     2  vols.  8vo,  $9.00. 
Omar  Khayyam.     Rubaiyat,  Red- Line  Edition,  square   i6mo, 

$1.00  ;  the  same,  with  56  Illustrations  by  Vedder,  folio,  $25.00 ; 

the  same,  Phototype  Edition,  4to,  $12.50. 
T.   Starr    King.     Christianity   and    Humanity,   with    Portrait. 

l6mo,  $2.00  ;  Substance  and  Show,  i6mo,  $2.00. 
Charles  and  Mary  Lamb.    Tales  from  Shakespeare.     Han~ 

dy-  Volume  Edition.     32mo,  $1.00. 

Henry  Lansdell.  Russian  Central  Asia.  2  vols.  $10.00. 
Lucy  Larcom.  Poems,  i6mo,  $1.25  ;  An  Idyl  of  Work,  i6mo, 

$1.25  ;    Wild   Roses  of  Cape  Ann  and  other  Poems,   i6mo, 
.$1.25;  Breathings  of  the   Better  Life,   i8mo,   $1.25;   Poems, 

Household  Edition,  Illustrated,    I2mo,  $1.75;  full  gilt,  $2.25 ; 

Beckonings  for  Every  Day,  i6mo,  $1.00. 
George  Parsons  Lathrop.    A  Study  of  Hawthorne,  i8mo, 

$1.25. 

Henry  C.  Lea.    Sacerdotal  Celibacy,  8vo,  $4.50. 
Sophia  and  Harriet  Lee.    Canterbury  Tales.     New  Edition. 

3  vols.  I2mo,  $3.75. 
Charles  G.  Leland.    The  Gypsies,  cr.  8vo,  $2.00 ;  Algonquin 

Legends  of  New  England,  cr.  8vo,  $2.00. 

George  Henry  Lewes.    The  Story  of  Goethe's  Life,  Por- 
trait, I2mo,  $1.50;  Problems  of  Life  and  Mind,  5  vols.  8vo, 

$14.00. 

J.  G.  Lockhart.  Life  of  Sir  W.  Scott,  3  vols.  I2mo,  $4.50. 
Henry  Cabot  Lodge.  Studies  in  History,  cr.  8vo,  $1.50. 
Henry  Wadsworth  Longfellow.  Complete  Poetical  and 

Prose  Works,  Riverside  Edition,  n  vols.  cr.  8vo,  each  $1.50; 


Standard  and  Popular  Library  Books.  9 

the  set,  £16.50;  Poetical  Works,  Cambridge  Edition,  4  vols. 
I2mo,  $7.00  ;  Poems,  Octavo  Edition,  Portrait  and  300  Illus- 
trations, $7.50;  Household  Edition,  Illustrated,  121110,  $1.75; 
cr.  8vo,  full  gilt,  $2.25;  Red-Line  Edition,  Portrait  and  12  Il- 
lustrations, small  410,  $2.50;  Cabinet  Edition,  $1.00;  Library 
Edition,  Portrait  and  32  Illustrations,  8vo,  $3.50;  Christus, 
Hoitsehold  Edition,  $1.75;  cr.  8vo,  full  gilt,  $2.25;  Cabinet 
Edition,  jjSi.oo;  Prose  Works,  Cambridge  Edition,  z  vols. 
I2mo,  $3.50;  Hyperion,  i6mo,  $1.50;  Kavanagh,  i6mo,  $1.50; 
Outre-Mer,  i6mo,  $1.50;  In  the  Harbor,  i6mo,  $1.00;  Michael 
Angelo :  a  Drama,  Illustrated,  folio,  $5.00 ;  Twenty  Poems, 
Illustrated,  small  410,  $2.50 ;  Translation  of  the  Divina  Corn- 
media  of  Dante,  i  vol.  cr.  8vo,  $2.50  ;  3  vols.  royal  8vo,  $13.50 ; 
cr.  8vo,  $4.50;  Poets  and  Poetry  of  Europe,  royal  8vo,  £5.00; 
Poems  of  Places,  31  vols.  each  $1.00 ;  the  set,  $25.00. 

James  Russell  Lowell.  Poems,  Red-Line  Edition,  Portrait, 
Illustrated,  small  410,  $2.50 ;  Household  Edition,  Illustrated, 
I2mo,  $1.75  ;  cr.  8vo,  full  gilt,  $2.25  ;  Library  Edition,  Portrait 
and  32  Illustrations,  8vo,  $3.50;  Cabinet  Edition,  $1.00 ;  Fire- 
side Travels,  I2mo,  $1.50  ;  Among  my  Books,  Series  I.  and  II. 
I2mo,  each  $2.00;  My  Study  Windows,  I2mo,  $2.00;  De- 
mocracy and  other  Addresses,  i6mo,  $1.25. 

Thomas    Babington   Macaulay.     Works,  16  vols.    12010, 

$20.00. 

Mrs.  Madison.  Memoirs  and  Letters  of  Dolly  Madison, 
i6mo,  $1.25. 

Harriet  Martineau.  Autobiography,  New  Edition,  2  vols. 
I2mo,  $4.00;  Household  Education,  i8mo,  $1.25. 

H.  B.  McClellan.  The  Life  and  Campaigns  of  Maj.-Gen. 
J.  E.  B.  Stuart.  With  Portrait  and  Maps,  8vo,  $3.00. 

G.  W.  Melville.  In  the  Lena  Delta,  Maps  and  Illustrations, 
8vo,  $2.50. 

Owen  Meredith.  Poems,  Household  Edition,  Illustrated, 
I2ino,  $1.75;  cr.  8vo,  full  gilt,  $2.25;  Library  Edition,  Por- 
trait and  32  Illustrations,  8vo,  $3.50 ;  Lucile,  Red-Line  Edi- 
tion, 8  Illustrations,  small  410,  $2.50 ;  Cabinet  Edition,  8  Illus- 
trations, $1.00. 

Olive  Thorne  Miller.    Bird-Ways,  i6mo,  $1.25. 

John  Milton.  Paradise  Lost.  Handy-  Volume  Edition.  321110, 
$1.00.  Riverside  Classics  Edition,  i6mo,  Illustrated,  $1.00. 


io  Houghton,  Mifflin  and  Company's 

S.  "Weir  Mitchell.  In  War  Time,  i6mo,  $1.25 ;  Roland 
Blake,  i6mo,  $1.25. 

J.  W.  Mollett  Illustrated  Dictionary  of  Words  used  in  Art 
and  Archaeology,  small  4to,  $5.00. 

Michael  de  Montaigne.  Complete  Works,  Portrait,  4  vols. 
I2mo,  $7.50. 

William  Mountford.    Euthanasy,  i2mo,  $2.00. 

T.  Mozley.  Reminiscences  of  Oriel  College,  etc.,  2  vols.  i6mo, 
$3.00. 

Elisha  Mulford.  The  Nation,  8vo,  $2.50;  The  Republic  of 
God,  8vo,  $2.00. 

T.  T.  Munger.  On  the  Threshold,  i6mo,  $1.00  ;  The  Freedom 
of  Faith,  i6mo,  $1.50  ;  Lamps  and  Paths,  i6mo,  $1.00. 

J.  A.  W.  Neander.  History  of  the  Christian  Religion  and 
Church,  with  Index  volume,  6  vols.  8vo,  $20.00  ;  Index,  $3.00. 

Joseph  Neilson.     Memories  of  Rufus  Choate,  8vo,  $5.00. 

Edmund  Noble.    The  Russian  Revolt,  i6mo,  $1.00. 

Charles  Eliot  Norton.  Notes  of  Travel  in  Italy,  i6mo,  $1.25  ; 
Translation  of  Dante's  New  Life,  royal  8vo,  $3.00. 

Wm.  D.  O'Connor.     Hamlet's  Note-Book,  i6mo,  jjSi.oo. 

G.  H.  Palmer.  Translation  of  Homer's  Odyssey,  Books  1-12, 
8vo,  $2.50. 

James  Parton.  Life  of  Benjamin  Franklin,  2  vols.  8vo,  $5.00 ; 
Life  of  Thomas  Jefferson,  8vo,  $2.50 ;  Life  of  Aaron  Burr, 
2  vols.  8vo,  $5.00;  Life  of  Andrew  Jackson,  3  vols.  8vo,  $7.50 ; 
Life  of  Horace  Greeley,  8vo,  $2.50 ;  General  Butler  in  New 
Orleans,  8vo,  $2.50 ;  Humorous  Poetry  of  the  English  Lan- 
guage, I2mo,  $1.75;  full  gilt,  $2.25;  Famous  Americans  of 
Recent  Times,  8vo,  $2.50 ;  Life  of  Voltaire,  2  vols.  8vo,  $6.00; 
The  French  Parnassus,  I2mo,  $1.75  ;  crown  8vo,  $3.50  ;  Cap- 
tains of  Industry,  i6mo,  $1.25. 

Blaise  Pascal.    Thoughts,  i2mo,  $2.25;  Letters,  i2mo,  $2.25. 

Elizabeth  Stuart  Phelps.  The  Gates  Ajar,  i6mo,  $1.50; 
Beyond  the  Gates,  i6mo,  $1.25;  Men,  Women,  and  Ghosts, 
i6mo,  $1.50;  Hedged  In,  i6mo,  $1.50;  The  Silent  Partner, 
i6mo,  $1.50;  The  Story  of  Avis,  i6mo,  $1.50  ;  Sealed  Orders, 
and  other  Stories,  l6mo,  $1.50;  Friends:  A  Duet,  i6mo, 
$1.25;  Doctor  Zay,  i6mo,  $1.25;  Songs  of  the  Silent  World, 
i6mo,  gilt  top,  $i  .25  ;  An  Old  Maid's  Paradise,  i6mo,  paper,  50 


Standard  and  Popular  Library  Books.          n 

cents  ;  Burglars  in  Paradise,  i6mo,  paper,  50  cents  ;  Madonna 
of  the  Tubs,  I2mo,  illustrated,  $1.50. 

Mrs.  3.  M.  B.  Piatt    Selected  Poems,  i6mo,  $1.50. 

Carl  Ploetz.    Epitome  of  Universal  History,  I2mo,  $3.00. 

Antonin  Lefevre  Pontalis.  The  Life  of  John  DeWitt, 
Grand  Pensionary  of  Holland,  2  vols.  8vo,  $9.00. 

Adelaide  A.  Procter.  Poems,  Cabinet  Edition,  $1.00 ;  Red- 
Line  Edition,  small  4to,  $2.50. 

Progressive  Orthodoxy.     i6mo,  $1.00. 

Sampson  Heed.    Growth  of  the  Mind,  i6mo,  $1.00. 

C.  F.  Richardson.   Primer  of  American  Literature,  i8mo,  $  .30. 

Riverside  Aldine  Series.  Each  volume,  i6mo,  $1.00.  First 
edition,  $1.50.  i.  Marjorie  Daw,  etc.,  by  T.  B.  ALDRICH; 
2.  My  Summer  in  a  Garden,  by  C.  D.  WARNER  ;  3.  Fireside 
Travels,  by  J.  R.  LOWELL  ;  4.  The  Luck  of  Roaring  Camp,  etc., 
by  BRET  HARTE  ;  5,  6.  Venetian  Life,  2  vols.,  by  W.  D.  HOW- 
ELLS  ;  7.  Wake  Robin,  by  JOHN  BURROUGHS  ;  8,  9.  The  Biglow 
Papers,  2  vols,  by  J.  R.  LOWELL  ;  10.  Backlog  Studies,  by  C. 
D.  WARNER. 

Henry  Crabb  Robinson.  Diary,  Reminiscences,  etc.  cr.  8vo, 
$2.50. 

John  C.  Ropes.   The  First  Napoleon,  with  Maps,  cr.  8vo,$2.oo. 

Josiah  Royce.     Religious  Aspect  of  Philosophy,  I2mo,  $2.00. 

Edgar  Evertson  Saltus.  Balzac,  cr.  8vo,  $1.25  ;  The  Phi- 
losophy of  Disenchantment,  cr.  8vo,  $1.25. 

John  Godfrey  Saxe.  Poems,  Red-Line  Edition,  Illustrated, 
small  410,  $2.50;  Cabinet  Edition,  $1.00;  Household  Edition, 
Illustrated,  I2mo,  $1.75  ;  full  gilt,  cr.  8vo,  $2.25. 

Sir  Walter  Scott.  Waverley  Novels,  Illustrated  Library 
Edition,  25  vols.  I2mo,  each  $1.00 ;  the  set,  $25.00 ;  Globe 
Edition,  100  Illustrations,  13  vols.  i6mo,  $16.25;  Tales  of  a 
Grandfather,  3  vols.  I2mo,  $4.50 ;  Poems,  Red- Line  Edition, 
Illustrated,  small  4to,  $2.50;  Cabinet  Edition,  $1.00. 

W.  H.  Seward.  Works,  5  vols.  8vo,  $15.00 ;  Diplomatic  His- 
tory of  the  War,  8vo,  $3.00. 

John  Campbell  Shairp.  Culture  and  Religion,  i6mo,  $1.25  ; 
Poetic  Interpretation  of  Nature,  i6mo,  $1.25 ;  Studies  in  Po- 
etry and  Philosophy,  i6mo,  $1.50;  Aspects  of  Poetry,  i6mo, 
$1.50. 


12  Houghton,  Mifflin  and  Company's 

William  Shakespeare.  Works,  edited  by  R.  G.  White,  Riv- 
erside Edition,  3  vols.  cr.  8vo,  $7.50  ;  6  vols.  8vo,  $15.00  :  the 
same,  cr.  8vo,  uncut,  $10.00 ;  The  Blackfriars  Shakespeare. 
Per  vol.  $2.50.  net.  (In  Press.) 

A.  P.  Sinuett.  Esoteric  Buddhism,  i6mo,  $1.25;  The  Occult 
World,  i6mo,  $1.25. 

Dr.  William  Smith.  Bible  Dictionary,  American  Edition,  4 
vols.  8vo,  $20.00. 

Edmund  Clarence  Stedman.  Poems,  Farringford  Edition, 
Portrait,  i6mo,  $2.00;  Household  Edition,  Illustrated,  izmo, 
$1.75;  full  gilt,  cr.  8vo,  $2.25;  Victorian  Poets,  12010,  $2.00; 
Poets  of  America,  i2mo,  $2.25.  The  set,  3  vols.,  uniform, 
I2mo,  $6.00;  Edgar  Allan  Poe,  an  Essay,  vellum,  i8mo,  $1.00. 

W.  W.  Story.  Poems,  2  vols.  i6mo,  $2.50 ;  Fiammetta :  A 
Novel,  i6mo,  $1.25. 

Harriet  Beecher  Stowe.  Novels  and  Stories,  xovols.  I2mo, 
uniform,  each  $1.50;  A  Dog's  Mission,  Little  Pussy  Willow, 
Queer  Little  People,  Illustrated,  small  410,  each  $1.25  ;  Uncle 
Tom's  Cabin,  100  Illustrations,  8vo,  $3.00 ;  Library  Edition, 
Illustrated,  I2mo,  $2.00  ;  Popular  Edition,  I2mo,  $1.00. 

Jonathan  Swift.  Works.  Edition  de  Luxe,  19  vols.  8vo,  the 
set,  $76.00. 

T.  P.  Taswell-Langmead.  English  Constitutional  History. 
New  Edition,  revised,  8vo,  $7.50. 

Bayard  Taylor.  Poetical  Works,  Household  Edition,  i2mo, 
$1.75  ;  cr.  8vo,  full  gilt,  $2.25;  Melodies  of  Verse,  i8mo,  vel- 
lum, $1.00;  Life  and  Letters,  2  vols.  I2mo,  $4.00;  Dramatic  Po- 
ems, I2mo,  $2.25;  Household  Edition,  I2mo,  $1.75;  Life  and 
Poetical  Works,  6  vols.,uniform.  Including  Life,  2  vols. ;  Faust, 
2  vols. ;  Poems,  i  vol.  ;  Dramatic  Poems,  I  vol.  The  set,  cr. 
8vo,  $12.00. 

Alfred  Tennyson.  Poems,  Household  Edition,  Portrait  and 
Illustrations,  I2mo,  $1.75;  full  gilt,  cr.  8vo,  $2.25;  Illus- 
trated Crown  Edition,  2  vols.  8vo,  $5.00 ;  Library  Edition, 
Portrait  and  60  Illustrations,  8vo,  $3.50 ;  Red-Line  Edition, 
Portrait  and  Illustrations,  small  4to,  $2.50 ;  Cabinet  Edition, 
$1.00;  Complete  Works,  Riverside  Edition,  6  vols.  cr.  8vo, 
$6.00. 


Standard  and  Popular  Library  Books.          13 

Celia  Thaxter.  Among  the  Isles  of  Shoals,  i8mo,  $1.25 ; 
Poems,  small  4to,  $1.50;  Drift- Weed,  i8mo,  $1.50;  Poems 
for  Children,  Illustrated,  small  410,  #1.50 ;  Cruise  of  the  Mys- 
tery, Poems,  i6mo,  $1.00. 

Edith  M.  Thomas.  A  New  Year's  Masque  and  other  Poems, 
i6mo,  $1.50;  The  Round  Year,  i6mo,  $1.25. 

Joseph  P.  Thompson.  American  Comments  on  European 
Questions,  8vo,  $3.00. 

Joseph  Thomson.  To  the  Central  African  Lakes,  2  vols. 
I2mo,  $6.00. 

Henry  D.  Thoreau.  Works,  9  vols.  I2tno,  each  $1.50;  the 
set,  $13.50. 

George  Ticknor.  History  of  Spanish  Literature,  3  vols.  8vo, 
$10.00 ;  Life,  Letters,  and  Journals,  Portraits,  2  vols.  i2mo, 
$4.00. 

Bradford  Torrey.    Birds  in  the  Bush,  i6mo,  $1.25. 

Sophus  Tromholt.  Under  the  Rays  of  the  Aurora  Borealis 
Illustrated,  2  vols.  $7.50. 

Mrs.  Schuyler  Van  Rensselaer.  H.  H.  Richardson  and 
his  Works.  (/«  Press.) 

Jones  Very.     Essays  and  Poems,  cr.  8vo,  $2.00. 

Annie  Wall.     Story  of  Sordello,  told  in  Prose,  i6mo,  $1.00. 

Charles  Dudley  Warner.  My  Summer  in  a  Garden,  River- 
side Aldine  Edition,  i6mo,  $1.00 ;  Illustrated  Edition,  square 
l6mo,  $1.50;  Saunterings,  i8mo,  $1.25;  Backlog  Studies, 
Illustrated,  square  i6mo,  $1.50;  Riverside  Aldine  Edition, 
i6mo,  $1.00 ;  Baddeck,  and  that  Sort  of  Thing,  i8mo,  $1.00; 
My  Winter  on  the  Nile,  cr.  8vo,  $2.00 ;  In  the  Levant,  cr.  8vo, 
$2.00;  Being  a  Boy,  Illustrated,  square  i6mo,  $1.50;  In  the 
Wilderness,  i8mo,  75  cents;  A  Roundabout  Journey,  I2tno, 
$1.50. 

William  F.  Warren,  LL.  D.     Paradise  Found,  cr.  8vo,  $2.00. 

William  A.  Wheeler.  Dictionary  of  Noted  Names  of  Fic- 
tion, I2mo,  $2.00. 

Edwin  P.  Whipple.    Essays,  6  vols.  cr.  8vo,  each  $1.50. 

Richard  Grant  White.  Every-Day  English,  I2mo,  $2.00; 
Words  and  their  Uses,  I2mo,  $2.00;  England  Without  and 
Within,  I2mo,  $2.00;  The  Fate  of  Mansfield  Humphreys, 
i6mo,  $i  25;  Studies  in  Shakespeare,  I2mo,  $1.75. 


14          Standard  and  Popular  Library  Books. 

Mrs.  A.  D.  T.  "Whitney.  Stories,  12  vols.  12010,  each  $1.50; 
Mother  Goose  for  Grown  Folks,  I2mo,  $1.50;  Pansies,  square 
i6mo,  $1.50;  Just  How,  i6mo,  $1.00;  Bonnyborough,  I2mo, 
$1.50;  Holy  Tides,  i6mo,  75  cents;  Homespun  Yarns,  I2mo, 
$1.50. 

John  Greeuleaf  Whittier.  Poems,  Household  Edition,  Illus- 
trated, I2mo,  $1.75  ;  full  gilt,  cr.  8vo,  $2.25  ;  Cambridge  Edi- 
tion, Portrait,  3  vols.  I2mo,  $5.25  ;  Red-Line  Edition,  Por- 
trait, Illustrated,  small  410,  $2.50;  Cabinet  Edition,  $r.oo; 
Library  Edition,  Portrait,  32  Illustrations,  8vo,  $3.50 ;  Prose 
Works,  Cambridge  Edition,  2  vols.  I2mo,  $3.50;  The  Bay  of 
Seven  Islands,  Portrait,  i6mo,  $1.00;  John  Woolman's  Jour- 
nal, Introduction  by  Whittier,  $1.50;  Child  Life  in  Poetry, 
selected  by  Whittier,  Illustrated,  I2mo,  $2.00;  Child  Life  in 
Prose,  I2mo,  $2.00;  Songs  of  Three  Centuries,  selected  by 
Whittier:  Household  Edition,  Illustrated,  I2mo,  $1.75;  full 
gilt,  cr.  8vo,  $2.25 ;  Library  Edition,  32  Illustrations,  8vo, 
$3.50 ;  Text  and  Verse,  i8mo,  75  cents  ;  Poems  of  Nature,  410, 
Illustrated,  $6.00 ;  St.  Gregory's  Guest,  etc.,  i6mo,  vellum, 
$1.00. 

Woodrow  Wilson.   Congressional  Government,  i6mo,  $1.25. 

J.  A.  Wilstach.  Translation  of  Virgil's  Works,  2  vols.  cr.  8vo, 
$5.00. 

Justin  Winsor.  Reader's  Handbook  of  American  Revolu- 
tion, i6mo,  $1.25. 

W.  B.  Wright.  Ancient  Cities  from  the  Dawn  to  the  Day- 
light, i6mo,  $1.25. 


